


Before the War

by theworldofshipping



Series: Before/During/After [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Minor Character Death, Orphan!Bucky, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Serum, Underage Drinking, mentions of domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-04-24 07:39:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 68,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4910926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theworldofshipping/pseuds/theworldofshipping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before there was Captain America and the Winter Soldier and wars with Nazis and aliens, there was Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. This is the story of how they met, how they fell in love, and how they learned to act in spite of fear. This is the beginning of all the legends you know and love. This is life before the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'll Show You

**Author's Note:**

> In which Bucky saves Steve's scrawny ass and Steve is less than grateful.

Bucky and Steve were eight years old when they first meet.

Steve was just beginning to truly comprehend the disadvantages that came with all his ailments. He was starting to understand that it made him look weaker, less desirable. And now his dad was dead. It had been a year since his passing, but Steve was mature enough to understand that it hindered him. Not only did he miss his father something fierce, but he also knew that meant his dad wouldn’t be around to teach him a lot of the things that dads were supposed to teach their sons. He was smart enough to know that left him at a disadvantage, too.

Both of Bucky’s parents had been dead eight months by the time he met Steve. And he was angry, all the time. He couldn’t tell you who he was angry at. God, maybe, for thinking he had any right to take Bucky’s parents, to leave him all alone. The lady at the orphanage stopped making him go to church after he told the pastor that God and his mysterious ways could go fuck each other. He didn’t know what it meant, but he’d heard one of the boys at the orphanage say it and it seemed to adequately convey his anger.

They met at a time when they both needed each other. When they were both so desperate for a reason to keep dragging their asses out of bed every morning. They were young, too young to really understand what depression was, but they felt it pushing down on them, dragging at their feet, every second of the day. And maybe if they’d have met at a time when they weren’t so desperate, they wouldn’t have come to rely on each other so completely. Maybe things would have been different. Or maybe not. Maybe this was all that destiny crap people kept talking about.

They met because Steve got into a fight. Which, later on, they would come to realize wasn’t all that surprising. That seemed to be Steve’s greatest talent, getting into fights he couldn’t possibly win. Bucky accumulated a talent for getting him out of said fights.

Bucky had left the orphanage to go to the boxing rink his dad used to spend his weekends at, pulling in extra money when they needed it. He used to bring Bucky with him, and that was where he’d taught his son how to throw a punch, how to win a fight. During those lessons and his father’s matches, Bucky had made friends with the owner of the rink. Talking to Frank was the only time he stopped feeling lonely, so he went every chance he got. Frank still trained him every Sunday evening.

Except he didn’t quite make it there this particular Sunday.

The sounds of a scuffle down one of the many alleyways that dotted the streets of Brooklyn had Bucky slowing to a near stop. Bucky could almost hear his mother’s voice telling him to keep walking, that it wasn’t his business and that he didn’t need to be the hero all the time. Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek and considered listening to his mother for once, even if she was just voice in the back of his head. But then a girl came sprinting out of the alley, breathing hard and wide-eyed with panic. She locked eyes with Bucky and then turned tail and ran the other direction. The sounds of a fight didn’t abate after she left.

Bucky sighed heavily and braced himself, slowly rounding the corner to peer down the alleyway. A boy who was around his size, maybe a little smaller, towered over a much smaller kid. His golden blonde hair was disheveled, falling into his bright blue eyes, the left one already darkening with a bruise. His lower lip was split and he had one hand pressed to his side, breathing deeply through his nose and glowering up at the bully. Bucky thought he was either very stupid or very brave. His mother used to tell him that there was a very thin line between bravery and stupidity; this boy was walking that line.

“You should quit stickin’ your nose where it don't belong, Rogers,” the larger boy said, pulling his fist back as though to hit “Rogers” again. Bucky couldn’t let that happen.

“Hey!” he shouted, drawing himself up to his full height and settling his face into the glare that had made people give him a wide berth at the funeral. The boy who was about to hit Rogers stilled and turned slowly to look at Bucky. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. Bucky’s dad had used to shout that at Bucky whenever he was caught doing something he shouldn’t and it had always struck the fear of God into Bucky’s heart. He didn’t think it was having the same effect on this guy though.

“Mind your own business,” the boy snarled and Bucky chanced a glance at Rogers. He was watching Bucky with a curious expression on his face; like he was interested to see what Bucky would do next. But Bucky could tell he didn’t have much hope in him, that Rogers expected him to shrug and say ‘well, at least I tried’ and move on. Bucky saw that as a challenge and he sure as hell wasn’t going to back down.

Bucky’s gaze flickered back to the bully. He was already turning back to Rogers, a clear dismissal. Bucky’s glower deepened and he marched forward, grabbing the back of the boy’s shirt and dragging him back away from Rogers. He let out an indignant yelp and attempted to twist in Bucky’s grasp. Bucky let him, releasing his shirt and taking a step back to easily dodge the punch swung towards his jaw.

Bucky smirked and lashed out, landing a solid punch to the boy’s nose that left his fist aching. The boy cried out, stumbling back until his back slammed into the wall and clutching at his nose which was beginning to gush blood. Involuntary tears leapt to the boy’s eyes and he stared Bucky down, but seemed to decide he wasn’t keen on fighting with blood spilling down his face. Bucky kept in a sloppy ready stance though, eyes on the boy as he waited.

“Whatever,” the bloody nosed boy said, and disappeared out of the alley. Bucky watched him jog away and waited until he was out of sight before he straightened up and shook his hand out. He glanced over at Rogers who was watching him with that same curious expression, using the back of his hand to wipe the blood from his split lip with only a slight wince. They regarded each other quietly for several awkward moments before Rogers broke the suffocating silence.

“I had ‘em on the ropes,” he grumbled and Bucky couldn’t help but roll his eyes, bending down to pick up the notebook and pencil that clearly belonged to Rogers.

“Usually people say thank you when someone helps ‘em out,” Bucky pointed out, brushing off the book and holding it out to Rogers who eagerly snatched it up and began to search through the pages for damage.

“Yeah, well...I didn’t need your help,” Rogers grumbled distractedly, a frown creasing his brow. Bucky snorted.

“Sure looked like ya did to me. Those weren’t good odds, even for someone my size.” Rogers slowly looked up from the book, movements frozen as he settled piercing, sky blue eyes on Bucky. His glare could have withered a plant but Bucky just found it vaguely amusing.

“Look, I didn’t ask for your help and I certainly didn’t ask for you to be a jerk about it, so why don’t you shove off?” he snapped. It turned out to be him that left though, turning sharply on his heels and stalking out of the alley. Bucky grinned and jogged a few steps to catch up with him.

“All right, Mrs. Grundy*,” Bucky teased, smirking down at Rogers broadly. Steve didn’t find him impressive or amusing. “No need to get your knickers in a bunch. I was just teasin’.”

“I didn’t think it was funny,” Steve growled back, not looking at him. Bucky sighed.

“Ya know, I’m still waitin’ for my thank you,” Bucky said to change the subject, following Rogers as he turned to the right and began to stalk down the sidewalk, notebook clutched in his white-knuckled grasp at his side and pencil tucked behind his ear. Rogers slowed to a stop and peered up at Bucky’s face, eyes narrowed. Bucky was almost a full head taller than Rogers.

“Thank you,” he said suddenly and then turned to keep stalking down the sidewalk. Bucky grinned and hurried after him.

“It ain’t no trouble,” Bucky assured him, tossing his arm around Rogers’ shoulders. Rogers stiffened in response and anyone else would have taken that as their cue to move away, but Bucky ignored it.

“I said thank you. You were supposed to leave me alone,” Rogers said, but it was half-hearted, his shoulders curling forward in defeat. Bucky laughed.

“You know what I think?” Bucky asked. Rogers groaned.

“No. Lets keep it that way.”

“I think you’re embarrassed I saved your butt. That’s why you’re bein’ a punk about it.” Rogers snorted.

“I told you I was handlin’ it,” Rogers snapped, glaring and shrugging Bucky’s arm off of him.

“Mhm, sure ya were. So tell me, what’s your name?” There was a long pause before Rogers answered.

“If I tell you, will you go away?”

“Nah, probably not.”

“Then I’m not telling you.”

“Fine, I’ll just call you Punk then.”

“And I’ll call you Jerk.”

“Jerks don’t save people’s lives.”

“I wasn’t gonna _die_.”

“I dunno...you’re so _tiny_...” Steve scoffed and marched on faster, his free hand balling into a fist. Bucky grinned and quickened his steps to keep up with him, which was easy enough.

“I’m Bucky Barnes, just so ya know.”

“That’s nice,” Steve groused, taking a sudden right that had Bucky scrambling to follow.

“So what’s your name?”

“It’s Punk.”

“A name for a name; that’s only fair.”

Of course, Bucky didn’t know it at the time, but Steve Rogers was all about fairness. That’s how he ended up in that fight in the first place; fairness and justice and doing the right thing. So, Steve sighed heavily and glanced back at Bucky with an expression full of reluctance. Bucky wondered if he did anything but scowl.

“Steve. My name is Steve Rogers.” Bucky grinned, feeling triumphant.

“Well, where are we headed, Stevie?” he asked.

“Don’t call me that...and _I’m_ headed to the park,” Steve snapped, shooting Bucky a glare that clearly meant ‘get lost.’ Bucky ignored it.

“Hey, that works out! I was headin’ to the park myself!” Bucky was lying through his teeth and Steve knew it, if his glare was anything to go by, but he just kept on grinning anyway. Steve huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Why are you so obsessed with me?” Steve demanded, pausing to look both ways like some twink before crossing the road. Bucky jogged after him, snorting again.

“M’not obsessed with you. You’re just funny.” Steve gave him an incredulous look but couldn’t find a way to argue that wouldn’t backfire on him spectacularly. Bucky grinned like he’d done it on purpose...which he had.

“Whatever,” Steve said instead, walking through the open gates that lead to his favorite park in Brooklyn. Bucky followed him inside, though he’d never been to this specific park before. He looked around him curiously, wondering what made this park special. Nothing about it really stood out so Bucky turned his gaze on Steve.

Steve really was small. Not only did the top of his head barely reach Bucky’s shoulder, but he was also rail thin. He looked like a stray wind from the wrong direction could snap him in half. He was kinda pale too, his skin a few shades lighter than Bucky’s. And now that Bucky was really studying him, Steve seemed to breathe a little funny. He never seemed to drag in a full breath. In appearance, Steve screamed fragility, but his personality gave him a slightly untouchable aura. The way he carried himself, the set of his shoulders....it made you think that he could humbly take on the world.

Steve glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow, catching Bucky in the act of staring and expecting him to be embarrassed about it or something. He wasn’t. Bucky just grinned broadly at him and maintained eye contact until Steve huffed and looked away. Bucky smirked, stuffing his hands into his pockets and kicking a rock away from him, watching as it skidded across the ground and disappeared into the grass.

Eventually, Steve veered off the path and started heading for a patch of trees; a mix of willows and pines. Steve paused in front of the trees, glancing over at Bucky with a reluctant expression. Bucky raised an eyebrow in question. Steve sighed and pushed aside the vines of a willow, not bothering to hold them to the side for Bucky, but he caught them easily before slipping after Steve. There was a very small pond in the center of the ring of trees, the edges of it overflowing with colorful flowers and a cozy looking bench sitting on the far side of it a few feet from the water. Tiny fish darted beneath the surface, disappearing under the shadows of floating lily pads.

Bucky whistled, gazing around the small clearing with raised eyebrows, impressed. Steve stood next to the bench, staring at Bucky and rubbing the back of his neck with a dark, sheepish expression.

“Not many people know about this place,” he said slowly, giving Bucky the distinct feeling that he was trying to say two things at once. “I come here to draw and to be alone...”

“Oh,” Bucky muttered, suddenly understanding. “I won’t tell nobody. Don’t worry,” he assured. Steve studied him a moment before shrugging and turning back to the bench. He sat down and put his back against the arm, twisting his body to the side and propping his knees up to give himself a platform for sketching. He flipped the notebook open and untucked the pencil from behind his ear. The notebook clearly wasn’t for sketching, because it had the faint blue lines drawn horizontally across the page. Bucky knew that Steve probably couldn’t afford much better.

The page that Steve had flipped to was a half finished sketch of a butterfly on a tiny branch. It was surprisingly good and Bucky walked over to peer over Steve’s shoulder in fascination. Steve sketched for a few moments, filling in lines and adding subtle details, before he paused and looked up at Bucky with a frown. Bucky smiled and shrugged, clearing his throat as he walked over to take a seat on the other side of the bench. He twisted his body around to mirror Steve’s position, draping his arms over his knees and fiddling with the paperclip he always kept in his pocket.

“So,” Bucky stated after a long stretch of silence. Steve briefly glanced up from his sketch as though to prompt him into continuing before looking back down again. “How’d you get into that fight in the first place?” Steve paused for real this time, looking up and actually _seeing_ Bucky. He was still frowning. For the fifth time, Bucky wondered if he did anything aside from frowning and glaring and wincing.

“They were trying to steal some girls lunch box because they saw her stuff some bills in there before leaving the store. I told them to leave her alone and Bernie Marks asked me what I was going to do about it. So I hit him.” Bucky let out a breathless laugh, eyebrows climbing in surprise.

“That was pretty stupid,” he noted. Steve scowled and looked back down at his sketch.

“She got away with her money, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, well, now you’ve gotta shiner and a split lip. Your parents are gonna lose it when they see that.” Steve stilled again, going a little green, and swallowed hard.

“Ma’s used to it. ‘Sides, I won’t see her ‘til tomorrow morning. She’s workin’ the nightshift at the hospital.” Bucky decided not to comment on the lack of mention of his dad.

“S’gonna look worse in the mornin’, Stevie,” Bucky warned him. Steve glared and returned to drawing once again.

“How would you know, anyway?” Steve snapped, not looking at him. Bucky sunk back against the arm of the bench, bending the metal of the paperclip back into its proper place.

“My dad used to go down to the boxing rink on the weekends to pull in some extra money. Taught me a thing or two.” Steve had paused his drawing again, this time completely putting his pencil down and flipping the book closed. He crossed his legs and leaned forward, studying Bucky.

“Used to?” he asked quietly, cautiously. Bucky felt himself darken and looked away.

“Dead,” Bucky said simply. “My ma too.” Bucky bit the inside of his cheek hard to keep from crying. It had been over six months since he’d last cried. He wasn’t planning on starting now.

“How long?” Steve finally asked after a long stretch of silence.

“‘Bout eight months ago.” There was another beat of silence and then Steve’s hand was curling around Bucky’s with a reassuring squeeze. Bucky glanced up to see Steve giving him a small, understanding smile. Bucky mustered up something like a smile himself and shrugged, squeezing Steve’s hand gently before pulling his own away. The silence stretched on before them for what seemed like ages and Bucky thought he was going to lose it if it kept going like this.

“Hey!” he said, suddenly perking up with a broad grin. “Let's play soldiers!” Steve’s open expression immediately shifted into one of wariness, and he eyed Bucky dubiously.

“I dunno...,” he muttered.

“Aw, c’mon,” Bucky pleaded, clambering to his feet and tugging at Steve’s sleeve. “It’ll be fun!” Steve sighed.

“I’ve never been invited to play soldiers before,” he protested weakly. “I don’t know how.”

Just then, Bucky got a look on his face that Steve would soon become very familiar with. It was a smile filled with excitement and mischief and anticipation, coupled with a gentleness that Steve would later find out was reserved only for him. Bucky didn’t show that kind of open, raw emotion with anyone else. It was a special, precious thing.

But he didn’t know that then. Didn’t know how important these next words would be to the two of them for decades to come.

“I’ll show you,” Bucky said, all confidence.

Bucky spent the next several minutes explaining to Steve how playing soldiers worked. Once Steve discovered how much running was involved, he made a feeble attempt at weaseling his way out of it by telling Bucky about his asthma. Once Steve had put the definition of asthma into words Bucky would understand, Bucky quickly and easily developed a new version of soldiers that required minimal effort and running on Steve’s part. Left with no more ammunition to protest, Steve reluctantly agreed to play the game.

He ended up having far more fun than he’d ever anticipated and it wasn’t long before the sun was beginning its descent below the horizon. It was getting late and therefore time to head home. Steve collected his things and Bucky followed him out of the clearing and back onto the park path leading towards the exit. Bucky got so distracted by animatedly telling Steve the epic story of a fight his dad had been in, that he hadn’t realized Steve had let him take the lead until he slowing to a stop at the bottom of the steps to the orphanage.

He cut himself short in the middle of a sentence and glared up at the building. He’d had an honest to goodness _good day_ for the first time since before his parents died and he wasn’t ready to give it up. Bucky had even been talking, willingly, about his father, something that had never happened before. And Steve had clearly been listening, smiling softly and watching Bucky with a sincerely interested expression. Steve was an open book, wearing all his emotions on his sleeve, and that made Bucky feel safe. He wasn’t always having to second guess himself, to double check everything he said to make sure he hadn’t shattered someone’s fragile ego. Steve let him know how he was feeling, what was on his mind, and that made Bucky feel safe with him.

He sighed.

“I guess this is my stop,” he grumbled, glaring at the building again. Steve had another one of those soft smiles on his face again, the rare ones that made Bucky breathe a sigh of relief because _yes, his face was capable of doing something other than frowning._

“Guess so,” he murmured. Bucky stuffed his hand into his pockets and stared down at his shoes, rocking back on his heels. Steve had both arms wrapped around his notebook and was staring at Bucky with a faintly amused expression.

“See ya around, jerk,” he said after a long moment, reaching out to playfully shove Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky glanced up with a grin, removing one hand from his pocket to gently shove him back.

“See ya 'round, punk.” Steve smirked, turning and disappearing around the corner.

 

 


	2. Sarah Rogers: A Force of Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve has an asthma attack and Bucky meets Sarah Rogers for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm pretty sure Wednesdays are going to be when I upload new chapters, but I can't guarantee anything because my Wednesdays are pretty hectic due to therapy and Supernatural/Arrow being back on and wow why did I pick Wednesdays? Well, whatever, we'll see how it goes. It shouldn't be too hard since I've got the better part of eight chapters written and edited. Thanks for reading guys! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> WARNINGS: Descriptions of an asthma attack (I don't imagine that to be too traumatic, but you never know what a person's triggers are), and I'm realizing now that I should have mentioned that Bucky is an orphan and Steve's dad is dead and that's referenced a lot in these first few chapters. Other than that, this chapter shouldn't be all that stressful.

Steve didn’t like to think before he did most things, which was probably why he was always in some form of trouble.

Being friends with Bucky was one of those things that Steve unwisely elected not to think about. It wasn’t like Steve was stupid or anything like that. He knew Bucky was broken, maybe a little bit darker than the other boys Steve had observed running around his park. He’d seen Bucky’s smirk right before he’d punched Bernie Marks in the nose the other day. Bucky’d been excited, pleased even, to have the chance to hit something; some _one_. He didn’t seem to much care about why he was doing it. And then Bucky was a little bit ruthless when playing soldiers. He never hurt Steve or even really came close, but Steve got the distinct impression that he might have if Steve were maybe a little bit bigger, a little less frail.

By all accounts, Steve should be wary about Bucky. He should not be headed in the direction of the orphanage where they’d parted ways the evening before. But he was and he was also resolutely not thinking about it. He was always throwing himself into things recklessly, why should this situation be any different?

A plump lady with her dark hair pulled into a tight bun answered the door, scowling down her nose at Steve. Steve smiled back, the charming little half smile that made people soften a little and give him a discount at the candy shop when they could manage it. The ladies face didn’t change, but her shoulders relaxed a little.

“Hi, I’m Steve. Is Bucky allowed to come out and play?” Steve asked, keeping his tone sweet and gentle. She squinted at him.

“Bucky? Oh, you mean James.” She turned her head towards the stairs and shouted, “JAMES!” at the top of her lungs. Steve flinched a little but didn’t let his open, curious expression slip. A bleary eyed, shirtless Bucky appeared at the top of the stairs, frowning and rubbing his eyes with confusion. Steve fought the urge to roll his eyes because of course Bucky would still be asleep at noon. Bucky dropped his hand and his lips parted in surprise as he stared down at Steve.

“You know this boy?” the lady asked him sharply. Bucky blinked and wrenched his gaze away from Steve, turning his eyes to the lady.

“Uh...yeah?” She raised an eyebrow and he sighed, slumping his shoulders and rolling his eyes. “Yes, _ma’am_ ,” he corrected snarkily.

“Well, you’ve got permission to go play with him if you want.” Bucky stared at her for a second and then looked down at his chest. Steve fought back the urge to laugh.

“Uh. Right. I’m gonna...put a shirt on. See ya in a minute, Stevie,” Bucky called over his shoulder as he disappeared back down the hallway, a wide grin splitting across his face.

Steve sat on the steps and opened up his “sketchbook,” untucking the pencil from behind his ear and shading the butterfly he hadn’t gotten to finish because of Bucky the day before. That was another reason Steve should probably put a little more thought into what exactly he was doing; Bucky was a distraction and he didn’t seem to know it. Which meant he wasn’t going to stop being a distraction any time soon. Steve should go sprinting in the opposite direction, but instead he sat on the steps and waited for Bucky to catch up.

Barely two minutes later, Bucky came spilling out of the orphanage doors, still tugging a cap down on his head and grinning at Steve like a madman. Steve rolled his eyes and snapped his book shut, tucking the pencil behind his ear and rising to his feet.

“You came back,” Bucky noted, falling into step beside Steve as they made their way down the sidewalk.

“You sound surprised,” Steve noted back. Bucky stuffed his hands into his pockets and kicked a rock away from him, watching it skid across the ground.

“I was pretty sure ya didn’t like me,” he admitted. Steve snorted.

“You’re all right,” he said, shoving his free hand into his pocket as well and lifting a shoulder. Bucky glanced over at him from the corner of his eye and grinned again, bumping his shoulder gently into Steve's.

“You ain’t so bad yourself, punk.”

“Jerk,” Steve grumbled back, his mouth lifting reluctantly into a smirk. Bucky ducked his head to hide his ridiculous smile, scuffing his feet along the ground as the continued to walk in silence for several minutes.

“So, James--” Bucky groaned loudly and tilted his head back to stare at the sky as though to ask ‘why me?’

“Please, for the love a’ God, do not call me James,” he pleaded, rolling his head to the side to stare down at Steve imploringly. Steve was grinning broadly for the first time since Bucky’d met him and Bucky tried hard not to think about why he was so pleased about it. He should be angry; he hated when people called him James.

“That depends; where’d you get Bucky from?”

“My ma’s idea. My middle name's Buchanan. She hated James but my pa loved it. He was the only one who ever called me James.” Steve studied him for a moment, noting the sadness creeping into his expression, and then sighed dramatically to diffuse the tension.

“Oh, all right. Fine, then _Bucky_...why have I never seen you at school before?” That, apparently, was not the question to ask to lighten Bucky’s increasingly darkening mood. His shoulders curled in on themselves and he frowned down at the sidewalk.

“After my parents died, they said I could finish out the school year at my old school, but come the end of summer I have to go to the same school as the rest a’ the boys at the orphanage. We probably didn’t go to the same school.”

“Well, what school are you going to next?” Steve asked.

“East End Elementary, I think.” Steve brightened noticeably and Bucky frowned at him.

“Hey, that’s where I go!” Bucky brightened too, eyes widening as he lurched to a stop and stared hopefully at Steve.

“Are you kiddin’ me?” he demanded, searching Steve’s face desperately. Steve was grinning right on back at him, shaking his head vigorously.

“No, I’m serious! I go to East End!” Bucky laughed warmly, his eyes bright and crinkling around the corners. Steve was hit with the sudden and intense urge to draw him.

“That’s just swell. Now I can get you to do all my homework for me!” The urge faded and Steve groaned, stalking down the sidewalk. Bucky chuckled and hurried to catch up with him.

“I am _not_ doing your homework too, Bucky.”

“Too? Whataya mean ‘too?’” Bucky asked, frowning over at his new friend. Steve shook his head.

“You know that kid you slugged yesterday?” Bucky’s face darkened considerably.

“Yeah, I know him.”

“I usually end up doing his homework for him. And his friends’ homework...” Steve noted, seeming resigned to the fact.

“What, so you can get into a fight with him over some dame but you can’t fight him over that?” Bucky demanded. Steve shrugged like it was no big deal. It really wasn’t, to him anyway. Bucky, on the other hand, was pissed.

“Somethin’ like that,” Steve admitted, avoiding Bucky’s gaze. It was a little embarrassing. Bucky grunted and shook his head, scowling at the path ahead of him and trying not to lose his cool.

“Well, it ain’t happenin’ anymore,” Bucky growled. Steve looked over at him now, frowning in confusion.

“Buck, I’m pretty sure it’s only gonna get worse next year after the stunt I pulled yesterday.”

“No, Stevie, it ain’t. I’m not gonna let it.” It was Steve’s turn to scowl as they crossed the street, his pace quickening with his irritation.

“I can take care of myself. And I told you not to call me that,” he snapped. Bucky snorted.

“Yeah, clearly. That’s why I had to save your scrawny ass from gettin’ beat blue n’ black,” Bucky agreed sarcastically. Normally, Steve would have smacked Bucky over the arm for the curse word, but he was too mad to pay attention to it just then.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I was _handling it_?” Steve demanded, very near to shouting. “And I’m not... _scrawny_!”

“Do you own a mirror, Rogers?” Bucky snarked right on back, glaring indignantly as Steve slapped the vines aside to his little clearing but didn’t hold them aside for Bucky. Steve let out an angry sound, waving his hand dismissively at Bucky and throwing his notebook down on the bench as he began to pace back and forth in front of it. Bucky stood stalk still, eyes tracking Steve’s every move.

“Tell me, Steve, if you can take care of yourself so well, then why the hell are you still doin’ their homework for them?” he snapped. Steve stabbed his fingers through his hair and kept pacing, glowering at Bucky darkly. “Well?!” Bucky shouted when he didn’t answer him right away.

Steve stopped suddenly, brow furrowing in apprehension this time instead of anger. He started rubbing at his chest and breathing more quickly. Bucky groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Are you just going to ignore me now?!” Steve’s eyes went wide, turning on Bucky as he started gasping and coughing, struggling to drag air into his lungs. Bucky’s face cleared a little, the anger abating into cautious concern. He eyed Steve dubiously, not sure if he were serious or trying to avoid the argument. Steve doubled over, wheezing hard and clutching at his stomach. Bucky inched closer on instinct, definitely worried now.

“Steve...?” he asked tentatively. Steve gasped again, wild eyes shifting up to meet Bucky’s gaze.

“I c-can’t...can’t...breathe....,” Steve managed to stutter out between sharp, short intakes of breath. Bucky’s eyes went wide with panic and he was at Steve’s side in an instant, touching his back and searching his face desperately.

“What do I do?! Steve, what do you need?!” he asked hurriedly, trying not to hyperventilate himself. Steve blinked at him owlishly, his lips starting to turn a very worrying shade of blue.

“H-Home...,” he panted. Cursing very colorfully for an eight year old, Bucky wrapped an arm around Steve’s waist and grabbed his arm, draping his over Bucky’s shoulders and straightening him up. He led him out of the clearing, but Steve started digging his feet into the ground, straining like he wanted to go back.

“Steve, what’re you _doing_?” he demanded.

“Bo....B-Book...,” he wheezed, trying to pull away from Bucky. Bucky scowled at him disbelieving.

“I’ll get it for you later! Now, walk!” he shouted. Steve was going to _die_ and it was going to be Bucky’s fault but also Steve’s because he wanted to take the time to get his stupid notebook. Steve let out a low whining noise and Bucky decided to pretend it was because he was in pain otherwise Bucky was gonna go out of his mind with anger. Thankfully, Steve didn’t put up anymore resistance as Bucky began to drag him along, which was a small miracle since Bucky had been about to throw the idiot over his shoulder and carry him to his house.

It took a lot longer for Bucky to get Steve to his house than he would have liked because he kept having to pause and interpret Steve’s wordless directions. Finally though, Steve pointed to an apartment building and used shaking fingers to tell him the room number. Bucky cursed when he realized there were two flights of stairs involved. That was not going to help Steve’s breathing problem. Steve was a ridiculous shade of _extremely pale_ and his nails were blue now too, to match his lips. Bucky was having his own trouble breathing and for the first time since before his parents died, Bucky found himself praying.

_Please, God, don’t take him. I just got him. Please, please._

Finally and at last, Bucky found the door to Steve’s apartment and all but kicked the door open. Luckily, it was unlocked and he was able to stumble inside, toting Steve along with him. The pretty blonde lady in the kitchen whirled around when they burst inside, brandishing a large frying pan which was dripping water and soap onto the kitchen floor. Her eyes were already wide with surprise but they went impossibly wider when she saw her son being dragged into their apartment, pale and a little blue and struggling to breathe.

“We...we were arguin’ and then he had an asthma attack and I didn’t know what to do so I brought him home,” Bucky stammered, but Steve’s mom completely ignored him for the time being. She dropped the pan into the sink with a slight splash and dried her hands on her apron as she rushed over. She scooped Steve up in her arms easily and carried him over to their ratty couch. She plunked him down onto it and knelt down in front of him.

“Steve, sweetie, I need you to sit up straight for me. Can you do that, honey?” she asked gently, fixing his disheveled hair for him as she searched his face worriedly. Bucky hovered close by, fingers tapping anxiously against his thigh. Steve nodded a little and sat up ramrod straight, blinking sluggishly and still wheezing.

Bucky found himself watching intently, memorizing and taking mental notes so he knew what to do in case this ever happened again. Steve’s mom took his hand and pressed it to her chest, staring at him right in the eyes.

“Steve, look at me, okay? Don’t black out on me. I need you to breathe with me, all right? In for seven, hold for four, out for seven; just like we do every time,” she explained to him. Bucky noted how calm she was, keeping any panic or fear from her eyes and expression. Bucky guessed she probably wasn’t freaking out like he did because she actually knew what she was doing.

Steve met her eyes with another slow nod and started breathing in time with her. Bucky counted as they breathed in for seven seconds, held it for four, and exhaled for another seven.

“Dear, would you go put a pot on to boil for me, please?” Steve’s mom said suddenly and it took Bucky an embarrassing amount of time to figure out she was talking to him. He nearly ran into the wall trying to hurry into the kitchen but checked himself last second and began slamming cabinet doors open looking for a pot. Oh. It was already on the stove. Shaking his head, Bucky ignored his trembling hands and grabbed the pot, shoving it under the faucet as he flicked the water on. He wasn’t 100% sure how much water he should put in it, so he filled it up halfway and prayed that it was enough.

It took him a second to figure out the stove but he finally got it working and placed the pot over the heated pad, staring at it intently for a moment before shaking his head to clear it and heading back for the living room where Steve and his mom were still breathing together. His mom glanced up at him and smiled a little.

“Can you breathe with him for a second, darling, while I make him some tea?” she asked gently and Bucky nodded, eyes wide. She explained how to breathe with Steve again and showed him one more time before rising and disappearing into the kitchen. Bucky inched forward timidly and knelt down in front of Steve. His breathing was a little better and he wasn’t as blue, but Bucky couldn’t help but to still be worried.

Hesitantly, he reached out and took Steve’s hand, pressing his palm over Bucky’s heart and holding it there with one hand. With the other, he reached out and covered Steve’s heart, staring when Steve reached up to hold his hand there too. He blinked and met Steve’s eyes again...and then started breathing slowly with him. Steve’s eyes glazed over a little as he stared back at Bucky and Bucky almost started panicking, but then the corner of Steve’s lips started to curl upwards in a tiny smile and the blue began to recede from his skin.

“Good job, Stevie,” Bucky encouraged quietly, breathing in for seven seconds. Steve nodded and breathed in with him. Bucky held his breath for four seconds and didn’t recognize his thumb had started to rub soothingly against his chest. Steve held his breath too and got lost in Bucky’s jewel blue eyes, trying to figure out how he’d make that color if he actually had the money for paints. Bucky exhaled for another seven seconds and told God he might not be so bad if he was letting Bucky keep Steve. Steve exhaled and then leaned forward to press his forehead into Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky allowed himself a second to lean his cheek into Steve’s head and then pulled back slightly.

“Your ma said you gotta keep sittin’ straight,” he chided and Steve rolled his eyes as he sat up. Bucky felt himself relax at the sight. Steve was definitely going to be okay. A few moments later, Steve’s mom reappeared with a chipped, steaming cup of tea. Steve removed his hands from where they were touching Bucky and smiled at his ma timidly, accepting the tea and immediately lifting it up to his lips.

“That should help clear his airways up the rest of the way,” his ma said and then turned to Bucky with a warm smile. Her eyes were bright blue, like God had used pieces of the sky to make the color, and framed by ridiculously long eyelashes. Her hair, spun from rays of the sun, was cut in that short, wavy bob that all the girls seemed to like these days, and her skin was smooth and sun-kissed tan. She wore a nice, floral pattern dress that hugged her in all the right ways and her cheeks dimpled when she smiled. She was like the older, lady version of Steve.

“I’m Sarah Rogers, by the way,” she said, her voice sliding over him like music as she offered her hand. She had a little bit of an Irish accent lilting some of her words. Bucky smiled back shyly and took it, shaking back firmly the way his pa had taught him. She had thin, artist’s fingers just like Steve too.

“I’m Bucky....Barnes. Bucky Barnes,” he said, wondering why he was stammering now of all times. He’d never been shy before. Mrs. Rogers’ smile was soft and amused.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, ma’am,” he murmured back. Her smile stretched wider.

“Please, call me Sarah. Anyone who saves my boys life can call me by my first name,” she assured him, eyes twinkling with amusement. Bucky blinked at her in confusion and her smile seemed to grow even more fond. Maybe she wasn’t the exact copy of Steve; she smiled a whole bunch more. “You _are_ the one who pulled him out of that fight yesterday, are you not?” she asked, arching a delicate eyebrow. Bucky flushed and nodded.

“Yes, ma’am...I mean, Sarah.”

“Well then, that settles it. Now, if you’ll excuse me for a moment.” Her smile collapsed in on itself and Bucky blinked in surprise, watching as she turned on Steve who sank back into the couch and kept sipping at his tea.

“Steven Grant Rogers,” she growled dangerously and Steve flinched, gazing up at her warily. “Would you care to explain to me why your asthma attack got so bad? If you had stayed close to the house like I told you to, then you would have gotten home before you turned blue.” When Steve didn’t immediately say anything she narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “So? How far did you go?” Steve winced again and studied his drink as though it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“I, uh...I went to the park to draw...,” he explained hesitantly, glancing up through his lashes just in time to see his mother’s eyes flash with anger.

“Steve, we have _talked_ about this! This is the exact reason I tell you not to go that far. If we had the medicine for your asthma for you to carry around, then maybe I would let you go down to the park, but I don’t have the money for that. Am I going to have to take back your outdoor privileges?” she demanded and Steve’s eyes went wide.

“Aw, c’mon Ma! I like the pond to practice drawing and I’m usually real careful about workin’ myself up! Please don’t!” Sarah narrowed her eyes again and crossed her arms.

“Speaking of; what got you all worked up this time?” she demanded. Steve blushed bright red and sank back into the couch, sipping his tea as his eyes skirted over to meet Bucky’s gaze. Bucky was blushing now too and he looked down to fiddle with his hands. Well, now Sarah was gonna make him start calling her ma’am again or tell him not to come around Steve anymore, because it was Bucky’s fault Steve’d almost _died_.

“We got into a’ argument,” Bucky mumbled, glancing up at her sheepishly. Sarah frowned.

“That’s right, I remember you saying something about that when you walked in. Well, what was it about?” Bucky shrugged and glanced over at Steve before answering. Steve nodded with a resigned expression.

“Well...Steve told me that the guy who was beatin’ him up yesterday and his friends usually make Steve do their homework for them and I didn’t much like that...I told Steve I wasn’t gonna let it happen no more and he was real insistent that he could take care a’ himself. But, ya see, I ain’t so sure about that, seein’ as how I had to pull him outta that fight the other day and he just lets ‘em treat him like dirt. So we got to arguin’ about that and then he couldn’t breathe, so I brought him back here,” Bucky explained. Steve was giving his tea a disgruntled expression that Bucky normally would have found amusing. Right now he just felt vaguely sick.

“I’m sorry,” he tacked onto the end because he felt like he should probably apologize for nearly killing her son.

“It wasn’t your fault, Buck,” Steve assured him earnestly. Bucky snorted in response, making a face at him that clearly spoke of how much he disagreed. Steve made a face back that clearly said he thought Bucky was being ridiculous. “It’s not like you knew getting worked up could trigger an asthma attack. And anyway, it probably wouldn’t have been so bad if we hadn’t been outside with all’a that pollen.” Was that supposed to be making Bucky feel better?

“You explained asthma to me yesterday. I shoulda known better,” Bucky grumbled, crossing his arms. Sarah studied the two boys as they glared stonily at each other, fighting hard against the amused smile that threatened to curl her lips. She sighed and shook her head, training her eyes on Bucky.

“You go to school with Steve?” she asked. Bucky looked back to her, glare shifting into a sheepish expression.

“I will next semester,” he answered, nodding a little.

“You plannin’ to look after my boy?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him or else she’d start smiling. Bucky straightened up immediately, his face becoming serious and determined. He untucked his hands from his pockets and lifted his chin slightly, meeting her gaze head on with a promise in his eyes. He didn’t look eight years old anymore; he looked at least fifteen and world-hardened.

“Yes, ma’am, I do,” he said simply, but she could hear how much he meant in those four words. They both ignored Steve’s grumbled, ‘I can take care of myself,’ because they both knew better.

“Well, then...,” Sarah said, finally allowing a smile to spread across her lips. “I think that calls for a nice dinner. Whataya say Bucky? Would you like to eat with us tonight?” she asked. Bucky’s shoulders immediately curled forward shyly and he tucked his hands back into his pockets, cheeks coloring and smiling sheepishly. He lifted one hand to rub at the back of his neck, shrugging.

“I could always ask...,” he acquiesced. Sarah smiled softly.

“Do you live far?” Bucky shook his head.

“Nah, not really.”

“All right, then why don’t you run off and ask if you can stay and if you don’t come back, we’ll assume you couldn’t swing it tonight.” Bucky bit his lip.

“Well, I need ta get Stevie’s notebook for him ‘cause he left it at the park, so I’ll definitely come back to give ya the answer straight.” Sarah grinned.

“Well that settles it then. See you in a few, Bucky.” Bucky grinned back, thanked her profusely, shot Steve one last worried look, and then sprinted out the door as fast as his little legs could carry him. Sarah turned her amused smile on her son.

“He seems nice,” she commented, taking his cup and walking into the kitchen. Steve followed, accepting the towel she passed him and wordlessly bending down to start mopping up the mess she’d made in her surprise. Steve shrugged after a moment and Sarah got back to cleaning. She was excessively glad it was the weekend and she wasn’t stuck at work tonight.

“He’s all right,” Steve allowed, straightening and setting the towel down on the counter. Sarah smirked at Steve and when he finally looked at her face, he groaned and tilted his head back.

“You like him,” she said smugly.  

“He’s _all right_ ,” Steve repeated, glaring at her. Sarah snickered.

“Steve, dear, it’s perfectly fine to like someone,” she assured him. “Friends are a good thing.”

“...I’ve never had a friend before...,” Steve murmured after a beat of silence and Sarah felt her heart break under the familiar rush of anger. Her son was a _good_ boy, she’d made sure of that. He was kind and intelligent and creative and funny and he stood up for what he believed in (although she wasn’t sure how glad she was for that because it usually got him beat up). Anyone would be lucky to have Steve as a friend, but just because he was small and a little shy and didn’t smile quite so much as she wished he would, people tended to pick on him rather than trying to befriend him.

“I don’ even know how long he’s s’posed to stick around,” he added and Sarah sighed, shaking her head a little.

“Good friends tend to stick around a pretty long time, chol,” (Irish; dove) she told him, looking over at him with a tiny smile. “Sometimes they even stick around ‘til the end.” Steve studied her a moment and then shrugged again, looking back down at his feet.

“I guess we’ll see,” he murmured.

“I guess we will.”

***

Bucky came pelting back into the apartment just shy of an hour later with Steve’s notebook in hand and a bright smile on his face. He was probably more excited than made sense for him to be just for a dinner, but it calmed the rest of Steve’s nerves from the conversation with his mom. Sarah told them that it would be a few hours before she even started making dinner but she wasn’t about to let Steve out of the apartment after his particularly bad asthma attack.

So, Steve lead Bucky back to his room a little nervously. All the artwork he’d done that he was actually proud of littered the wall above his small, twin bed. The walls were plain white and dotted with slightly suspicious stains that came from the previous owners. The floor was hardwood, chipped in multiple places, with a circular, non-descript rug thrown in the middle. Toy soldiers were lined up along his windowsill, guarding Steve from the outside world. There was a dresser shoved up against the opposite wall of the bed and no closet. It was all in all pretty boring.

Bucky seemed to like it though, grinning broadly the whole time as he gave himself the tour. He especially liked Steve’s pictures, pointing out his favorites and asking multiple times if Steve was absolutely sure he hadn’t traced them.

“Can you draw?” Steve asked, watching him as he continued to study the pictures. Bucky shrugged.

“I took the art classes at school like everyone else, but I ain’t nowhere near as good as you, Stevie,” Bucky assured. Steve had already resigned himself to the nickname. Bucky was clearly not letting it go.

“Here,” he said, flipping his notebook open to a fresh page and untucking the pencil from behind his ear. He held them out to Bucky with an expectant expression. Bucky turned and frowned down at them warily. He inched forward and lifted the pages towards the back of the book, frown deepening.

“You don’t got that many pages left...,” he grumbled. “I don’ wanna waste it for you.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“I want to see if you can draw or not. Draw.” Bucky looked up and sighed, shrugging and accepting the book and pencil. He crawled into Steve’s bed and sat in the corner, crossing his legs and bending forward over the book. Smiling triumphantly, Steve clambered onto the bed as well and sat down in front of Bucky, watching intently. He didn’t look at the page because he knew how much he hated when people looked at his sketches before they were done, but he watched Bucky’s face.

Bucky’s eyebrows drew together in concentration and his lips were constantly twisting as he chewed the inside of his cheek. He did a lot more erasing than Steve did but he knew that was a lack of confidence. He also kept running his fingers through his hair as though to fix it even though there was nothing wrong with it.

After what felt like hours, Bucky finally made a frustrated noise and thrust the book out at Steve, scowling.

“S’as good as it’s gonna get,” Bucky grumbled at Steve’s quizzical look. Steve rolled his eyes - he felt like he was always rolling his eyes at Bucky - and accepted the notebook, pulling it towards him to study the page. It was a drawing of the willow tree that they had to pass under to get to the little pond area. And it was _good_. Steve looked up at Bucky with a grin.

“Buck, this is really good! D’you want it or can I hang it up?” he asked excitedly. Bucky eyed him dubiously but shrugged.

“I ain’t got nowhere to put it. You can keep it.” Steve smiled and scrambled off the bed, hurrying over to his dresser. He tugged the top drawer open and stood on his tiptoes, pushing socks and underwear aside until he found the pile of tacks he had tucked into the corner. He grabbed one and shoved the drawer closed, hopping back up onto the bed again. He stood in front of the wall of pictures and studied it for a moment, tapping the flat end of the tack to his lip.

“Tear out the picture for me,” Steve instructed distractedly and then his face brightened with an idea. He held the tack between his teeth and used both hands to start moving his pictures around. Bucky held out the picture to him but Steve held up a finger, still moving things around. Bucky frowned.

“What’re you doing?” he asked. Steve grunted by way of response. When he was satisfied, he snatched the picture from Bucky and held it against the wall as high up as he could get it, making sure it was straight before pressing the tack inside.

“There,” Steve said with a triumphant smile and stepped back, nodding. “Now you have a side and I have a side. Whenever you draw a picture you really like, you can give it to me and I’ll hang it up.” Bucky blinked up at him and then blinked over at the wall, eyes wide.

“You didn’t hafta do that, Steve,” he groused, frowning.

“Nope,” Steve agreed, popping the p. “But I wanted to. And I did it. So get over it.” Bucky studied him a moment and then smiled.

“You think I’ll be around enough to fill up that wall?” he asked, a little shyly. Steve stared back for a second.

“I hope so,” he answered honestly.

***

Bucky half expected dinner to be awkward, but it was actually the most fun he’d had in awhile.

He found out that Sarah’s grandparents were Irish immigrants and that both she and Steve were fluent in Irish. He laughed delightedly when they started speaking Irish back and forth and then all but demanded Steve teach him. He was met with a shrug and a soft smile, so he took that as a yes.

Sarah was extremely funny and, by extension, so was Steve, which Bucky hadn’t gotten to witness much of. But Sarah seemed to give him the burst of confidence he needed to really be himself with Bucky. Sarah’s cooking was also delicious and any functioning human being would be hard pressed to find a way to be unhappy while eating her food. Dinners at the orphanage were never this good and Bucky found himself wishing he could eat here every night. He almost asked Sarah to adopt him but he knew she wouldn’t have the money, so he kept his mouth shut.

School was in a couple of weeks, so Sarah invited Bucky to come with her and Steve to get his things for school. Bucky agreed to ask enthusiastically but he really didn’t see why he wouldn’t be able to. Steve smiled at his food like he were pleased and Bucky found himself doing the same in response. He’d never had a friend before. Sure, he hung out with the kids at school and the orphanage sometimes, but he’d always felt like he were invading their space. With Steve, it felt like he was making Bucky his own space right in the middle of his life.

Steve was making a home for Bucky and he had to try hard not to cry at the idea of having a home again.

After dinner, Bucky offered to help with the dishes and Sarah had smiled so brightly at him, Bucky couldn’t help but to beam back. While they worked - Sarah washing, Bucky drying, and Steve putting the dishes where they belonged - Sarah explained that she worked as a night nurse at the local hospital and that she had the weekends off. She also explained that Bucky was allowed over anytime he wanted as long as it was okay with his parents. Bucky felt himself darken as he explained about his parents being dead and was surprised to hear himself telling her how they’d died in a car wreck which was information he hadn’t even offered to Steve the day before.

When he was finished, he kept staring at the plate he was excessively drying until Sarah reached over and gently tugged his ear. He looked up to see her smiling softly at him and found himself leaning into the touch as she carded her fingers through his hair.

“You’re very strong, Bucky,” she told him. “Your parents would be proud of you.” Bucky bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling, blinking rapidly to keep from outright crying in front of her. Sarah smoothed his hair back into place, pinched his cheek so gently he could barely feel it, and then turned back to the dishes. Bucky glanced over to see Steve watching him with a sad, understanding look to his eyes. Bucky tried for a smile and Steve reached over to squeeze his shoulder before turning back to put a plate in the cupboard.

Once they were finished with the dishes, Bucky announced he should probably head back which promptly lead to a screaming match in Irish between Sarah and Steve. He watched in confusion, swearing right then and there that he was going to learn Irish if it killed him. He did not like being out of the loop. Steve won the argument if his smug smile and Sarah’s irritated expression were anything to go by. Sarah disappeared back into the kitchen while Bucky was shrugging his jacket on and placing his cap on his head and reappeared with a flashlight.

“Straight there and straight back. No excuses and no lingering,” she ordered, glaring at Steve who beamed back and accepted the flashlight. Bucky frowned. “Steve’s going to walk you back,” she explained and Bucky snorted.

“I’m fine, Steve. You don’t gotta do that,” he said, wrinkling his nose disgruntledly at the blonde. Steve rolled his eyes. Again. Did Steve ever stop rolling his eyes?

“Yeah, well. I want to and I’m going to. Get over it.” And with that, he marched out the door, giving Bucky no choice but to follow after a quick hug and a thank you to Sarah.

The walk back was mostly silent but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Usually, Bucky hated silence and would do what he could to fill it up, but with Steve he didn’t feel that need. When they arrived at the orphanage though, they both stopped at the bottom of the steps, hands stuffed awkwardly in their pockets and toes scoffing the ground. Finally, Steve broke it.

“See ya tomorrow, Buck,” he said, smiling warmly at him. Bucky felt himself grinning back because that meant he wanted to see Bucky again and he planned to do so tomorrow. Bucky hadn’t felt this light in eight months.

“See ya tomorrow, Stevie,” he said back. They clapped each other on the shoulders like they’d both respectively seen their fathers do with other men and then Bucky was heading up the steps and Steve was disappearing back the way they came.

Bucky fell asleep thinking about the way both of the Rogers’ somehow seemed to know not to refer to the orphanage as home.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave kudos and comments. Critiques, praises, favorite parts, least favorite part, questions, concerns, inaccuracies, and things you think I should have tagged are all encouraged!


	3. Mono and Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky experiences sick!Steve for the first time and Steve makes an announcement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm actually pretty proud of this chapter. I feel like I developed their relationship a bit more and set up the mood for the rest of the fic. Plus, I'm a huge geek about writing and language and have this weird obsession with foreshadowing, so points to those who catch the places where I foreshadow events in the future! 
> 
> After this chapter, I'll hopefully have moved away from generalized summaries and be more detailed about what's happening. I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> WARNINGS: Homophobic thought processes and mental stand points (it's not malicious or intentional), Steve is pretty sick and on the brink of death (though I don't go into great detail, but it's still there, so be mindful), theft, and REALLY young boys cursing.

Both Steve and Bucky were the happiest either of them had been in a long time.

Bucky was around almost every day, thanks to Sarah going to the orphanage and talking to Mrs. Louise. Sarah didn’t tell either of her boys what exactly she’d said to her, but Mrs. Louise had been wide eyed and a little shaky when she’d explained to Bucky that he’d be going home with Steve during the school year and coming back to the orphanage after dinner.

The last couple of weeks of summer, Steve got to go outside more than he had ever been allowed to before. Since Bucky had done so well with handling his asthma attack the first time, he and Sarah had worked out a system that would allow Steve to be able to go to the park every day if he’d like. If Steve started having an asthma attack while they were there, Bucky was supposed to breathe with him until he was mostly calmed down and then they were to slowly make their way home so that Steve could get some tea. They weren’t to do too much running around and if Steve felt like he was having a “bad day” he had to be honest about it and stay in that day.

Once Sarah was satisfied with the system, Steve started showing up at the orphanage every day at noon to pick up Bucky. If Steve wasn’t there by 12:30, then Bucky would head to Steve’s house on the assumption that Steve was having one of his “bad days.” When Steve was feeling well enough to play though, they went straight for the park. Sometimes they played soldiers or superheroes or something similar and other days one would watch while the other drew.

Bucky found that he liked drawing a lot more than he thought and his confidence grew every time Steve insisted on hanging up everyone of his pictures. Steve even gave Bucky some tips on how to improve his drawings. Tips he knew because of their next door neighbor, Mr. Kent, who was a professional artist and gave Steve lessons during the spring. The day after Steve told Bucky about Mr. Kent, he’d picked Bucky up from the orphanage bubbling over with more excitement and energy than Bucky had ever seen from him. Bucky had grinned hugely as Steve animatedly told him about how Mr. Kent agreed to include Bucky in their spring lessons. For free!

After they played or drew in the park for a few hours, Steve and Bucky would head home for dinner. On the weekdays, Sarah wasn’t home yet for dinner so Steve had to make something (he was a really good cook) and Mr. Kent would come over to check on them a little after they’d finished eating. Bucky really liked Mr. Kent, who appeared gruff at first, but was actually pretty funny and very nice. On the weekends, Sarah was home and very tired, but she cooked and demanded to hear all about their week, smiling and commenting to show she was listening.

Once they’d eaten dinner, Steve would walk Bucky back to the orphanage and always made sure to leave with a ‘see ya tomorrow,’ sometimes calling him Buck, sometimes calling him punk, but always making sure Bucky knew he still wanted him as a friend. And Bucky fell asleep smiling almost every night.

The first day of school, Bernie Marks had come barrelling towards Steve with the intentions of giving Steve the usual speech about how he had to do his homework and how he better not put up a fight about it. He’d been so intent on Steve that he hadn’t even noticed Bucky until Bucky stepped up next to Steve and grinned at Bernie broadly, all teeth with a dangerous glint to his eyes. Bernie’s face had paled but he made a valiant effort to appear unperturbed. Until Bucky asked him how his nose was doing. He’d turned a bright shade of red and hurried away from him, his confused group of friends in tow.

Steve was fighting the urge to hug him for the rest of the day. He pretended to be annoyed about Bucky coming to his aide but Bucky just laughed, hooked an arm around Steve’s shoulders, and tucked him in close to his side as they headed off to class.

They fell into a new pattern just as easily as they had fallen into their summer pattern. After school, he and Steve walked home and had a snack before Steve insisted they start in on their homework. Bucky complained a lot about that but then, when he asked Steve why it was so important to him, Steve explained that he got sick a lot and that his grades would fall behind because of it. He needed his grades to be perfect in anticipation for when that happened. Bucky stopped complaining.

After they worked on their homework, Steve would make dinner while Bucky watched, although Steve had started to let Bucky help. They always made a plate for Sarah and left it in the fridge for when she got home. Then Steve would walk Bucky home as he always did and say the same thing he always did. Their weekends hadn’t changed much and Bucky loved them the best. Sarah had become like his surrogate mother and she really seemed to care about him. He once heard her call them “my boys” to the next door neighbor with three cats and had nearly cried until Steve had asked his opinion on a drawing.

Bucky sometimes worried that Steve would get jealous of the way Sarah treated Bucky like her second son, but he never seemed to. In fact, Bucky often caught Steve smiling pleasantly to himself whenever Sarah scolded Bucky or called him “chol” or tugged his ear affectionately whenever she thought he was being ridiculous or looked a little too sad for her liking.

Bucky also liked the weekends because that was when Steve and Sarah taught him Irish. Of course, all throughout the week, Steve would ask him a question about their lessons to see if he still remembered or spring an Irish word on him to see if he could still follow the sentence, but the weekends were when they really sat down and broke everything apart so it was easy for him to understand. Both Steve and Sarah seemed pleasantly surprised with how quickly Bucky was catching on and Steve begrudgingly admitted to being impressed. Which he immediately regretted saying because Bucky was insufferable for _weeks_.

The first time Bucky saw a sick Steve was an all around horrific experience for all people involved.

They’d been in school for four months when it happened. For a week straight, Steve had been coughing and sniffling a lot more than he usually did but, every time Bucky asked if he wasn’t feeling well, Steve waved his hand dismissively and changed the subject. Even Sarah was beginning to get concerned, and she wasn’t anywhere near as paranoid as Bucky. But, Steve was insistent that he’d just been having a couple of “bad days.” The night before everything went down, Bucky had noted that Steve was extremely pale, but Steve’d just said, “goodnight, Bucky. See ya tomorrow,” and headed back for his apartment.

The next morning, Steve didn’t show up in the front lobby of the school where he usually met Bucky before heading to class. Bucky tried not to panic by telling himself that he was probably just late. Except Steve didn’t show up during the first two classes of the morning which he and Bucky shared. By the time lunch rolled around, Bucky was actively fighting a panic attack and resisting the urge to sprint out the front doors and all the way to Steve’s apartment. When the bell finally rang at the end of the day, Bucky did exactly that, not slowing down until he stumbled into the living room.

Sarah was there and looking much more tired than she ever had before. Her eyes were red rimmed. Bucky’s stomach dropped and he was pretty sure he was going to throw up until he noticed Steve curled up under four blankets, sleeping peacefully, his loud snoring letting Bucky know he was alive. Bucky’s knees gave out with the sudden wave of relief and adrenaline crash, making him sit down hard next to Steve’s head.

Sarah explained that Steve had collapsed on the sidewalk on his way to school and it was by the grace of God that Mrs. Norton - the cat lady - had found him on her way to the diner for breakfast with a friend. She’d carried Steve all the way home and woken Sarah up just in time for her to follow Steve into the bathroom where he promptly spent ten minutes dry heaving since he hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast that morning and therefore had nothing to throw up.

Steve had mono.

“Can....can he die from it?” Bucky asked in a small voice, not looking away from his friend. Sarah sighed tiredly and scrubbed a hand over her eyes.

“It’s extremely rare for a patient to die of mono, but that’s in normal patients. Steve’s immune system is very, very weak, Bucky. He has the ability to pull through this, of course, but it’s...it’s going to be a lot more of a problem.”

“So you’re saying he _could_ die?” Bucky snapped. He knew that he was just lashing out because he was scared and Sarah knew it too, so she didn’t comment on his tone of voice like she normally would. She sighed heavily again and slumped back in the armchair.

“If we could afford the proper medicine, I’d tell you no, but...,” she trailed off, either unwilling to say it or unable to because of the tears forming a lump in her throat. Bucky had similar lump in his own throat as he stared down at Steve, tears prickling at his eyes. He reached out with a trembling hand and touched Steve’s forehead. His skin was on fire and his cheeks were bright red, but his body was shaking slightly beneath the mound of blankets. Bucky bit his lip so hard he tasted blood and gently brushed the hair back from Steve’s eyes.

He sat there for a moment, carding his fingers through Steve’s hair who arched up into the touch like a cat in his sleep, and then stood, situating the blankets around him and heading into the kitchen. He made himself and Sarah some tea and then ushered her back into her room to get some sleep, promising he’d sit with Steve. Which he did, sketching distractedly while he listened to Steve’s ragged breathing for any signs that he should panic.

Steve and Sarah both woke up in time for dinner, which Bucky made. Steve stayed awake long enough to drink some tea and sip a couple spoonfuls of tomato soup before passing out again. Sarah said she wasn’t going into work that night to assure Bucky he didn’t need to spend the night and Bucky knew by the barely concealed worry in her eyes that they couldn’t afford for her to take off anymore work. Bucky made his decision right then and there.

He walked back to the orphanage all by himself for the first time since meeting Steve and climbed the steps numbly, ignoring the calls from some of the other boys to play cards with them. He stayed wide awake that night, waiting until he was certain everyone else was asleep before springing out of the bed. He tugged on his shoes, a jacket, a cap, and a pair of ratty leather gloves before slipping silently out the front door.

Before Bucky had met Steve, he’d passed a few days with an older kid named Tom learning how to pick a lock with the kit Tom had inherited from his dad when he died. Bucky had stolen Tom’s kit earlier that evening before pretending to go to sleep and he used it now, crouching down in front of the drug store door after casting a nervous glance around the street. Bucky wasn’t as good or as fast as he’d have liked, but he made it inside without getting caught. While Sarah and Steve had been eating earlier that evening, Bucky had discreetly asked what kind of medicine would help Steve. Bucky spent the next several minutes searching the shelves until he found it, tucking it into his pocket and making sure to lock the door before he left.

Bucky ran all the way to the apartment, using the key under the brick to get inside. He froze as soon as he walked through the door though. Sarah was sitting in the armchair, watching Steve who had refused to move from the couch. Or rather, she was watching Bucky now, eyes wide with surprise. He sighed. He’d been hoping to do this while they were asleep and then pretend that he had no idea how the medicine had gotten there come morning.

“Bucky?” she asked, frowning at him. “What are you doing here?” Bucky rubbed at his forehead, closing his eyes for a moment before dropping his hand and shrugging nonchalantly. He walked over and pulled the medicine out of his pocket, holding it out to her. She stared at it in complete shock and Bucky shifted nervously.

“This, uh...this is the stuff he needed...right?” he asked warily, praying he hadn’t gotten the wrong one. Sarah glanced up to meet his eyes and took the medicine with slightly trembling hands.

“Bucky...” she breathed. “Where did you get this?” He shrugged again.

“Found it,” he mumbled half heartedly. Sarah’s eyes hardened.

“James Buchanan Barnes, did you _steal_ this medicine?” she demanded. Bucky flinched and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He shrugged for the third time that night. She thrust the medicine back at him. “Take it back.” Bucky wrenched his gaze up to meet hers in outrage. He took a step back, shaking his head.

“No!” he hissed, trying not to shout and wake Steve. “Steve needs that!”

“And so does the shop owner,” Sarah retorted. Bucky scowled.

“I won’t let Steve die,” he snapped back. Sarah wavered, glancing back to Steve’s sleeping form. She sighed and dropped her hand, rubbing at her eyes tiredly and shaking her head.

“Bucky, you’re right and I...I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, but I can’t condone this behavior.”

“I’m gonna save up. Pay it back once I got the money,” he grumbled defensively, hands going back to his pockets as he turned his gaze on Steve. “I don’t wanna steal no more than you do, Sarah. But Steve needed it and you need to go back to work and I ain’t about to sit here and watch him die. I’ll pay it back, I promise, just...don’t make me take it back. Please? Let him use it.”

Sarah stared at him for a long time, reluctance written all over her face. She scowled and sighed again, shaking her head and turning to look at Steve as well.

“All right, fine,” she agreed. “But you have to promise me you won’t ever pull a stunt like this again.” Bucky merely nodded, brushing Steve’s hair back like he’d done earlier that day.

“I’m gonna ask Mrs. Louise if I can stay here until Steve’s better. I’ll sit with him so you can go to work.”

“Bucky, you’re eight years old. I’m not gonna ask you to do that.” Bucky smiled darkly.

“Yeah, well...you ain’t askin’. S’my idea. See ya tomorrow, Sarah,” he said and kissed her cheek, heading back home before she could protest anymore.

***

Steve hated being sick. He lost all sense of time. So, when he woke up to the fading light of the sun and Bucky’s worried expression, he had no idea how long he’d been unconscious. He groaned, his stomach flipping painfully, and tried to pull the blankets up around him but Bucky stopped him.

“Stevie, Sarah says you’ve been asleep all day. You gotta try n’ eat somethin’, okay?” he cooed softly, stroking Steve’s hair back from his forehead and trying to guide him into a sitting positions.

“What’s the day?” Steve asked. Bad idea. His throat felt like it was on fire. He flinched and Bucky watched his face anxiously, holding out a cup of cold water. That helped a bit.

“Thursday,” Bucky answered, pressing the back of his hand to Steve’s head and then sliding it down to his cheek, checking his temperature. His hands were cool and it felt good on Steve’s heated skin. He leaned into the touch. And then registered what Bucky’d said.

“Thursday? But...but...,” he blinked down at the cup of water he now had clutched in both hands, confused. Bucky’s frown somehow managed to deepen.

“What d’you remember, Steve?” he asked nervously.

“I...I remembered passing out on my way to school....and throwing up...tomato soup? I dunno. Not much after that.” Bucky made a distressed noise and Steve glanced up to look up at him.

“Steve...you passed out Wednesday morning and Mrs. Norton found you, carried you home. When you got home, you woke up enough to ‘dry heave’ for ten minutes, is what your mom said, and then you passed out on the couch until I got home from school. You had tomato soup and then went back to sleep. Sarah said you woke up twice to puke last night and that she fed you some toast and tea this morning but Mrs. Norton told me you wouldn’t wake up for lunch.” Steve blinked in shock.

“Really?” was all he could manage. Bucky sighed and nodded, encouraging him to sip the water. Steve did so, watching as Bucky stood and disappeared into the kitchen. When he came back, he was carrying a little bottle of syrup medicine that was clearly very expensive. Steve stared at it.

“Don’t ask,” Bucky pleaded, sitting down in the armchair which he had pulled over to sit directly in front of Steve. He unscrewed the top and began to pour the syrup into the lid like the directions said.

“I’m asking,” Steve croaked, frowning at his friend. Bucky sighed again.

“I stole it last night,” he explained, not meeting Steve’s eyes as he held the cap of syrup out to him. Steve felt his eyes widen and didn’t take the medicine.

“Bucky!” he cried, horrified. Bucky groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Steve, take the stupid medicine,” he practically growled. Steve glowered.

“You _stole_ it?”

“Yes. You were dying. Now take the medicine.”

“No. Pour it back in there and take it back.”

“Steve, you will _die_!”

“Okay, that’s fine. Take it back.”

“TAKE THE GOD DAMNED MEDICINE OR I WILL FORCE FEED IT TO YOU!” Bucky shouted, eyes flashing dangerously. Steve’s glare didn’t waver.

“No.” Bucky stared at him for a long moment, listening to the blood roar in his ears and his heart pound erratically. He closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath.

“Look, I’m already savin’ up to pay the drug store back for the stupid medicine, you self-righteous freak. Just take the forsaken medicine before I lose my mind...please,” he added as an after thought, staring at Steve imploringly. Steve stared back at him and sighed, feeling the energy drain out of him as he traded his cup of water for the syrup. Based on past experience, Steve knew it was wisest just to knock the whole thing back in one go and not worry about the taste until after. So that’s what he did, making a frantic grab for the water as it practically slithered down his throat.

“Eck,” he commented, wrinkling his nose. He coughed hard for a moment, Bucky leaning forward to rub his back supportively. He passed the water back to Bucky and slumped against the couch.

“I hate you,” he said after a moment and Bucky snorted.

“You hate me because I saved your life? Yeah, that makes sense,” Bucky retorted, heading back into the kitchen to put the medicine in the cabinet and grab the food he’d made for Steve before waking him up. When he came back in, Steve looked like he was halfway asleep. Bucky shook his head.

“Stevie,” he said, snapping his fingers under Steve’s nose. Steve blinked up at him lazily and then closed his eyes. Bucky sighed. “Hey! Punk! Sit up, you need ta eat somethin’,” Bucky snapped. Steve groaned and tried to push Bucky away, but Bucky caught his arm with his free hand and pressed the bowl into his palm instead. “It’s chicken noodle soup, your favorite. Eat,” he instructed. Steve hesitated a moment more before sighing dramatically and straightening up to take the food. Steve eyed him as he sipped on the broth.

“Where is your food?” he asked.

“Already ate.”

“Liar.”

“I’ll eat later, Steve. Focus on yourself.”

“Now. Eat now; while I’m awake so I can make sure you do it.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Steve, I’m not an idiot like you. I’ll eat later.”

“Nope, now.”

“Steve...”

“I stopped harassin’ you about the medicine but I’m not letting _this_ go. Eat, Bucky.” Bucky sighed and rubbed at his forehead.

“There ain’t enough for the both of us, Steve, all right? Your ma’s gotta go shoppin’ this weekend. I’ll eat leftovers at the orphanage....” Steve squinted at him.

“You’re still wearing your lyin’ face.” Bucky groaned.

“Okay, so maybe I’m staying over here until you get better. But I’ll eat lunch at school tomorrow. It’s fine.” Steve took another sip of the broth and ate a piece of chicken with a few noodles wrapped around it before holding it out to Bucky.

“Have the rest.”

“Steve, no. You haven’t eaten anythin’ except a few bites a’ toast this morning. You need your strength to get better.”

“You stole medicine for me, remember? I’ll be fine. Eat the soup.”

“If I eat after you, I’ll get mono.” Steve made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and glowered at his friend.

“You should have split it into two bowls, jerk.”

“Well, I didn’t. Now eat, punk.”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, I know ya do.”

Steve ate the soup in brooding silence and then stared mournfully into the bowl when he realized he was going to throw up if he ate anymore. He didn’t want to waste it though, especially since Bucky wasn’t going to be able to eat, so he tried to finish it. Bucky made him stop when he realized Steve was forcing himself to eat. Then, as he was taking the bowl, he noticed that Steve’s eyes were wet and his lower lip was trembling. Bucky sighed and set the bowl down again, settling down on the couch next to Steve.

“Hey, it’s fine, Steve. I had a lot at lunch today ‘cause I kept stealing from Clara, so I’m not even that hungry. I promise,” he assured, reaching over to ruffle his already disheveled blonde hair. Steve sniffed and wiped his eyes in frustration.

“I’m s-sorry. Ma doesn’t have the m-money to take o-off work and n-now you’re not eatin’ ‘cause’a me a-and I’m just so suh-sorry, Buck,” he stuttered, face twisting up as he tried hard not to cry. If Steve started crying then Bucky was gonna cry and Bucky hated crying, so he hooked an arm around Steve’s shoulders and drew him in close. This was, apparently, not the thing to do. Steve started full-on crying as soon as Bucky dragged him into the hug. He curled his fingers into Bucky’s shirt and pressed his face into his neck, shaking all over.

“My whole buh-body h-hurts. I’m so t-tired of bein’ sick all the t-time,” he sobbed. Bucky closed his eyes against the tears that were now pressing against his own eyes and sighed. He wished like hell that he could give Steve a new body, a body that could keep up with all the things that little Stevie wanted to do but couldn’t because of all of his ailments. He wished he could make it so he never had to be sick again.

“I know, Stevie, I know. I’m so sorry, pal,” he murmured, taking the blankets and pulling them up around Steve’s shoulder so he wouldn’t get cold. “Listen, I’m staying here with ya until you get better to take care of you so your ma don’t have to miss no more work. And I’ll eat a bigger lunch at school tomorrow and Mrs. Norton said she’d bring you lunch tomorrow and give you your medicine, so you gotta promise me you’ll wake up and do as she says. Eat and swallow that nasty syrup stuff and get lots’a rest. If you do that, then you’ll be feelin’ better in no time and this’ll all just be a bad dream. All right?”

Steve nodded against Bucky’s neck and gradually, the trembling eased until he was only shivering slightly every now and then. Bucky was about to tell him to lie down until he realized Steve had already fallen asleep. He didn’t want to wake him, so he merely leaned back against the back of the couch and continued to stroke his fingers through his best friend’s hair.

***

That weekend, Steve was feeling considerably better. He was still achy, his head was still throbbing dully, and his throat was still a little sore, but he wasn’t on the brink of death and crying himself to sleep against his best friend anymore, so he counted that as progress. Sarah kept calling Bucky “Magic Man” because Steve had never recovered that fast from an illness that bad before. Steve had a feeling the name was going to stick because Sarah wouldn’t stop using it every five minutes.

Bucky practically preened under the praise and Steve felt a warm bubble of happy fill up his chest like he did every time his mom gave Bucky the affection he’d been missing from his life for nearly eight months.

On Saturday, when Bucky was certain that Steve was feeling pretty much okay and Sarah was awake enough to look after him, he left to go check in with the orphanage like he’d promised Mrs. Louise he would do. Steve was sitting on the kitchen counter, watching his mother unload the groceries that Friday’s paycheck had allowed her to get. He couldn’t get something Mrs. Norton had said while giving him lunch and his meds the day before out of his head, so he decided he should probably talk to Sarah about it while Bucky was still out.

“Ma?” he asked.

“Hmm?” she hummed, pausing to take a sip of her glass of water.

“I think I’m probably gonna marry Bucky someday.” Sarah instantly regretted taking a drink while Steve was speaking, because she promptly spewed it out all over the counter, half choking on it in her surprise. Steve eyed her in confusion as he patted her back to help with the coughing and waited for her response.

“What?” was all she could choke out when she finally stopped hacking up her lungs. Steve sighed like she were being exasperating.

“Mrs. Norton said that people got married when they loved each other a whole lot and wanted to be with them and take care of them for the rest of their lives. Well, I’m pretty sure I love Bucky - don’t tell him I said that - and I definitely want him to stick around for the rest of my life and I wanna take care of him like he takes care of me. So I think I’ll marry him one day. I mean, I know I’m too young now, but when I’m older. Then I’ll marry him. Do you think he’d agree?” Sarah stared at Steve for a long time, feeling completely unequipped for this conversation. She sighed and rubbed at her temples to quell the oncoming headache.

“Steve...,” she began slowly and couldn’t help but to smile at his earnest expression. “The love that Mrs. Norton was talking about is a completely different kind of love than what you feel for Bucky.”

“How?” he asked, cocking his head to the side curiously, and no, Sarah was not having The Talk with him. Not yet. He was _eight_ , for Christ’s sake! She sighed in frustration and shook her head.

“It...well, it just is, chol. It’s very hard to describe. But you don’t marry your best friend.”

“You said pa was your best friend before he was your boyfriend,” Steve pointed out and Sarah fought the urge to bury her head in her hands.

“Well...,” she started but absolutely had no idea what to say. Steve blinked at her, waiting patiently. She swallowed a groan. “That’s different, Steve. Marriage is between boys and girls. Boys can’t marry boys and girls can’t marry girls.”

“Why?” Steve asked and... huh okay, Sarah had never really thought about it before. She remembered asking her mother when she was very young why she never saw any girls marrying each other and her mother had told her almost the exact thing Sarah had just told Steve and Sarah had just...accepted it. She hadn’t asked why because it was her ma and her ma knew everything, why would she be wrong about this? But Steve, the ever quizzical and curious Steven Grant Rogers, was not going to just _take her word for it_. For Steve, there was a reason for everything and if there wasn’t, well then...that didn’t make any sense and he would completely disregard it.

Sarah didn’t have an explanation for this that she felt would appease Steve, that would make him say ‘oh okay, that makes sense’ and let it go. And that scared Sarah because what if....what if Steve turned out to be one of those.... _homosexuals_. If Steve were queer, Sarah was pretty sure she could be okay with it because it was her Steve and she’d love him no matter what. But the rest of the world was what Sarah was worried about. She remembered seeing two boys getting beaten in the street after getting caught kissing in an alley when she was fifteen. One of the boys died and the other had been in the hospital for months before being sent off to live with family in the country.

“Listen, Steve...” she began, squashing the panic welling up inside her. “I can’t tell you why boys don’t marry boys except that a lot of people think it’s very, very wrong. If anybody else hears you saying things like that, they’ll hurt you.” That wouldn’t be anywhere near enough. She hated, _loathed_ , to do this, but... “They’ll hurt _Bucky_ , okay? I love you no matter what, I always want you to remember that, but you can’t say things like that around other people. Promise me you won’t?”

Steve’s eyes had gone almost comically wide and Sarah might have been amused in any other situation, but she couldn’t find it in her to be amused quite yet. She needed to hear Steve say it.

“I...I promise, ma. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his voice small and afraid. Sarah felt her shoulders relax and forced a small smile onto her face, patting his cheek gently before brushing a stray hair back into place.

“That’s okay, chol. I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to scare you either.” Steve shrugged, eyes going distant and thoughtful like they always did when he was thinking something over.

“S’okay, ma...,” he muttered distractedly.

He was quiet the rest of the night, even when Bucky came back and kept pestering him for what was wrong. Sarah didn’t miss the way he kept glancing at Bucky with a terrified expression when he thought Bucky wasn’t paying attention. She wondered if she’d done the right thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys! I hope you enjoyed it and that you'll come back to read more next week! Feel free to leave kudos and comments! Love you!


	4. Sketching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky gives Steve a real sketchbook for his birthday and Steve feels significantly like shit for his drawing to Bucky for his birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so this is super late. I've been kind of sick, so Wednesday and Thursday consisted of mostly sleeping and throwing up and feeling miserable about my existence. And then on Friday, I got a super bad migraine at the doctor's office and kind of passed out when I got home. So I've been editing and stuff today so I can get chapter four out to you. I'm sorry about the delay! Hopefully, chapter five will be up at the usual time next week!
> 
> WARNING: Descriptions of an asthma attack, Steve gets beat up (again) and the fight is a bit more descriptive, and Steve's injuries are also slightly worse than last time.

It was two weeks before Bucky’s birthday and Steve felt like the most selfish human being to ever exist. He might actually say his first curse word over this. It was a very near thing when he realized he was about to have an asthma attack in the middle of math.

The teacher kept trying to get him to go to the nurse but Steve just kept shaking his head because he’d gone to her for an asthma attack once and she’d had absolutely no idea what to do. She’d called the one phone in their apartment building and he’d been lucky that Mrs. Norton was home to hear it ringing and was able to go get his mom in time. Mrs. Norton often _wasn’t_ home and Steve could feel this was a bad one. It was escalating a lot faster than they normally did and he didn’t have the time to walk all the way to the nurse and keep calling until they finally got ahold of his mom. So he was going to have to be a horrible best friend.

Great.

“B-Bucky...,” he managed to gasp out, staring up at the teacher with wide eyes and trying to ignore the class of kids huddled around him, watching curiously as though he were some program on the radio. He didn’t have the energy to be resentful just then.

“You want me to get _James_?” the teacher asked incredulously. Steve did his very best not to roll his eyes. He did not have time for this!

“P-Please...he...he k-knows..,” Steve couldn’t get anything else out. He was officially freaking out. He was going to die because the stupid frickin teacher didn’t want to walk across the damned hall and get his best friend.

“He knows what to do?” she asked. Steve nodded and tried not to double over, remembering at the last second what his mom had said about not closing up his airways like that. The teacher hesitated for another half second - Steve briefly contemplated strangling her in his frustration - and then sighed, nodded, and hurried out the door. A second later, Bucky was tearing into the room, shoving kids out of the way carelessly.

Steve’s vision was blurred and out of focus as he tried his hardest to remember what the heck he was supposed to do. But, as usual, his panicked and oxygen deprived brain couldn’t recall a single detail of what he did the other _fifty billion times_ he’d had an asthma attack.

“Steve?” Bucky called softly, tapping his cheek twice to get his attention. “Steve, I need you to look at me.” Steve blinked and Bucky’s face came into sharp clarity, his blue eyes calm and determined.

“B-B-Bu...,” he tried to say but he couldn’t get the words to work. Bucky shook his head.

“Shh, shh. Don’t try and talk, pal. Can you sit up straight for me? Yeah, just like that. Here, gimme your hand. Good. Now, breathe with me, okay? In for seven, hold for four, out for seven, just like every other time.” Bucky breathed in and Steve followed suit. It hurt a little. “Good job, Stevie. Keep goin’. That’s it. In....hold....out...good, good.” For what felt like a small eternity, Steve and Bucky breathed together, Bucky giving him quiet encouragements and snapping his fingers under Steve’s nose whenever he started to lose focus. Finally and at last, Steve felt the air properly entering his lungs and slumped with relief.

“Hey, none of that. Straighten them shoulders. You ain’t breathin’ that good yet. Mrs. Freeman, do you got anything to make tea in that staff room?” Bucky asked.

“Uh, yes, I believe so...”

“Good, tea’ll help clear up his airways the rest’a the way. He’ll need to lay down in the nurse’s office and take it easy for the rest of the day.”

“Does he have any medication to take?” she asked timidly.

“No, ma’am,” Bucky answered simply. Steve was glad he hadn’t said anything about Steve being too poor to afford it. He knew most of the other kids were in the same type of situations, but it was something you just didn’t talk about. Mrs. Freeman seemed to understand though and disappeared to get another teacher to watch the class while she went to make the tea. Bucky made sure she knew no sugar because that would just spike his heart rate.

Bucky kept breathing with him and Steve could feel his cheeks warming with embarrassment. He’d just had an asthma attack. In the middle of math class. And had to pull Bucky out of his English class. Two weeks before his birthday. This was the worst thing to ever happen to him, excluding the death of his father. Bucky seemed to notice because he frowned a little.

“Don’t you kids have some worksheet or somethin’ you’re s’posed to be doin’?” he snapped, turning to glare at them. Steve had gotten in exactly two fights at school so far this year and Bucky had shoved him aside in the middle of both of them, simultaneously winning and ending the fight within half a minute. Once the rumors of both fights had spread, Bucky had gotten a full blown reputation as the resident badass and the last person who’s bad side you wanted to be on. So, with a healthy dose of fear that had Bucky smirking, the kids turned and scattered back to their desks, resolutely looking at their worksheets.

Steve was eternally grateful but as usual, he pretended to be annoyed. And, as usual, Bucky saw right through him and grinned in response.

“You’re welcome,” he said smugly. Steve glared.

“I hate you.”

“If this is how you’re gonna respond every time I save your scrawny butt, I’m gonna stop doin’ it,” he warned. Steve rolled his eyes.

“Go right on ahead. You’ve already got a big head. If it got any bigger you’d stop being able to fit through the doors.” Bucky made an indignant noise in the back of his throat.

“Hey! No need to be nasty,” he cried, but his lips were twisted into a smirk.

“You started it.”

“Uh, no, I’m pretty sure that was you.”

“Whatever.”

A few minutes later, Mrs. Freeman hurried back in with a small China cup of tea, passing it to Bucky as though she didn’t trust herself near Steve. Bucky watched him like a hawk, making sure he drank every last drop of tea, continuously warning him to go slowly even though Steve already _knew_ that. Once Steve was finished, Bucky collected the worksheet and homework for his math class before taking him to the nurse’s office.

Once there, Bucky kindly and gently suggested that maybe the nurse should tell all Steve’s teachers that they should come get Bucky if he had an asthma attack and that maybe she should also tell them where Bucky would be during those classes. The nurse pretended it was her idea and Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve when her back was turned, forcing Steve to stifle a giggle. Bucky left and Steve had just started working on his sketch for Bucky’s birthday when he reappeared, carrying a bunch of papers from Steve’s last two classes of the day.

Steve was hit yet again with an overwhelming sense of gratitude that Bucky had chosen _him_ of all people to be best friends with. Steve and Sarah really had no idea how they’d survived so long without him. And Steve wished with everything inside him that he could give Bucky something that would show him all he was doing for not only Steve, but for Sarah too. But they were freaking broke and Steve couldn’t buy Bucky _anything_ so all he had to give him for his birthday was a stupid sketch and he basically felt like the crappiest friend ever.

Bucky left to go back to his classes with a final tousle of Steve’s hair and a maniacal laugh when Steve swatted him away, leaving Steve to work on his sketch in peace. At least the nurse was playing the radio. Steve always drew better when there was music on.

At the end of the day, Bucky returned to fret annoyingly over Steve who had to keep insisting that he was fine. Bucky didn’t appear to believe him though since he _kept on asking._ He wouldn’t even let Steve carry his own backpack. By the time they finally made it home, Steve felt significantly less grateful than he had in the nurse’s office.

“I’m making dinner and if you argue with me on this I will beat you with a wooden spoon,” Steve warned. Bucky apparently had no sense of self-preservation.

“I dunno, Steve, I think you should probably rest. That was a pretty bad one...,” he muttered, frowning at him. Steve then started beating him over the arm with a wooden spoon from the cup on the stove where they kept all their cooking spoons. Bucky ducked, throwing up his arms in defense, but didn’t run. In fact, he started scolding Steve for working himself up again. Steve stared at him for a second, pausing his swings with a deadpan expression. And then chucked the spoon at Bucky’s head.

“Ow!” Bucky yelped as it bounced off the center of his forehead. Steve smirked.

“Get outta my kitchen!” he screeched, waving his arms the way his mom did when Steve was getting under her feet while she cooked or cleaned. Bucky squawked indignantly but finally slumped off into the living room to finish up his homework while Steve cooked.

Over dinner, they stared at each other appraisingly as they chewed, glaring at each other.

“I am not fragile glass,” Steve informed him. Bucky snorted and rolled his eyes, finally looking back down at his food.

“Sure ya aren’t, Stevie.”

“Buck, I’m serious. You gotta stop treatin’ me like a stale wind could snap me in half!” Bucky dropped his fork and pressed the tips of his fingers into his eyes, like he’d seen Sarah do a thousand times when one of them was being insufferable.

“That’s what you don’t seem to get, Steve. A stale wind probably _could_ snap you in half. And even if it can’t, I don’t see why you’re gettin’ all worked up over this. I mother hen you a bit, so what? Hell, I’d be jumpin’ at the opportunity to get people to do everything for me!”

“No, Bucky, you wouldn’t and you know it. You’d get annoyed too, after a while.” Bucky stared at Steve for a long moment and then sighed, nodding.

“Okay, yeah, you’re pro’ly right.”

“So you’re gonna stop acting like my second mother?” Steve asked hopefully. Bucky barked out a sharp laugh.

“Yeah, definitely not.” Steve threw his hands into the air with an exasperated noise.

“Jesus Christ, you’re _impossible_!” he cried and Bucky shrugged, smirking as he tucked back into his meal.

***

“Happy birthday, Magic Man!” Sarah cried, setting a small circular cake down in front of him. He was wearing a birthday hat that Steve had made for him the night before and a reluctant, slightly embarrassed smile. Steve grinned at him from where he was sitting beside him, watching his face so that he didn’t miss the excitement that Bucky was trying to hide.

“Thanks, guys,” Bucky grumbled, nervously resituating the hat on the top of his head and smiling sheepishly.

“You’re welcome, Buck!” Steve said and Bucky met his eyes, his grin coming a little easier when he saw Steve’s.

The night before, they had eaten Bucky’s favorite meal - mac n’ cheese the way Sarah made it was actually something he was willing to die for and her son could copy it perfectly - and Steve had promised to do all of Bucky’s homework so that he didn’t have to do it. Bucky had protested that second one because he didn’t want to use Steve the way his bullies used to, but Steve was insistent and had stolen the worksheets when Bucky wasn’t looking. Then, Steve had announced that his present wasn’t finished and that they were having his party on Saturday anyway so that Sarah could be there and he was just going to have to deal with it.

Honestly, Bucky would have been fine with the nice dinner, a night without homework, and a sleep over with Steve, but Steve seemed to think it was important that they properly celebrate. Bucky _had_ ended up getting to stay the night with Steve which was good. For some reason, he always slept better with his back pressed to Steve’s in his small bed with the light of the street lamp filtering through his window. Maybe because that’s where he felt safest.

He’d been woken up at a very ungodly hour by an enthusiastic Steve, but it had been worth it, because Sarah was serving them cake for breakfast. And now they were both loudly and obnoxiously singing Happy Birthday to him and he was acting like he wanted to sink right through the floor but really he felt like he might just be able to fly.

Sarah cut the cake up into little pieces and dueled them out, storing the leftovers in the fridge for them to eat after dinner. Once they were finished eating, Sarah announced that it was time for presents, looking in Steve direction with excitement. Steve blushed, looking self-conscious. Bucky frowned at him.

“You didn’t buy me anythin’, did you?” he asked, making sure his tone conveyed how much he disapproved. Steve sighed.

“No,” he grumbled as though this was a horrible mark against his character. “I didn’t have enough for anything I wanted to get you. So, I....well, here.” He stood and disappeared back into his room, reappearing with a piece of paper clutched in his hand. It was smooth and uninterrupted, no lines marring the crisp white surface like the paper Steve usually drew on. Bucky felt his eyebrows raise in curiosity, leaning forward to try and see what was on the page.

“It’s, uh...it’s not much. But. Well. Yeah.” He thrust the page out and Bucky wiped his fingers on his pants before gingerly taking it from Steve as though it were something precious. In Bucky’s book, it was.

The drawing was definitely the best one Steve had ever done. He’d clearly put a lot of time and focus into this, each pencil stroke careful and thought out. It was of Bucky, dressed in a soldier's outfit with a gun in hand, a smile on his face, and an explosion going off behind him. Steve had drawn himself flanking Bucky’s right and Bucky was glad to see he’d drawn himself with a smile too. The one other friend that Steve and Bucky both shared and who they sometimes played with as well, William, was drawn flanking Bucky’s left. Both he and Steve were holding guns too.

There wasn’t an inch of the page that wasn’t covered in some detailed drawing. If you looked at the picture without knowing anything about it or its creator or its subject, you would be able to tell that the person who’d drawn it held the boy in the center in very high regard. This person was the artist’s hero, that was plain to see.

Bucky glanced up at Steve, his face splitting into a wide grin. He set the picture gently on the counter and dove forward, tackling his best friend into a hug. Steve squeaked in surprise - he would later deny it until his dying day - but was almost immediately hugging back, a soft smile playing at his lips.

“Thanks, Stevie. That’s the best present I ever got,” he murmured. Steve scoffed, but he was smiling brightly when Bucky finally pulled back.

“S’no problem, Buck.”

“How long did it take you to draw it?” he asked, lifting it up again to study it.

“I’ve been workin’ on it since January,” Steve admitted, blushing a little. “I wanted to give myself time to get it right.” Now it was Bucky’s turn to scoff.

“It was probably right within the first week a’ workin’ on it. You worry too much,” Bucky told him, giving him a reprimanding look.

“Look who’s talkin’,” Steve grumbled, rolling his eyes. He was still grinning though and so was Bucky.

It really was the best birthday he’d ever had.

***

Bucky knew something was wrong when Steve didn’t show up at the orphanage on Saturday.

It was May and had been raining all day yesterday, so the pollen wasn’t that bad and Steve’s asthma shouldn’t be acting up. Sarah was one of the least emotionally stressful people to be around in the world and she knew her son’s limits, so he couldn’t imagine Steve’s asthma acting up because of a high-stress situation. Bucky had learned the conditions for a ‘bad day’ and this was not one of them.

But Bucky didn’t really start to panic until he made it to the apartment.

“Well that was fast,” Sarah noted, turning from the kitchen with a frown on her face that deepened when she saw who it was. “Bucky?” she peered around him and frowned even more. Bucky could hear his heart pounding in his ears. “Where is Steve?”

Bucky didn’t even pause to answer, just turned and sprinted back down the stairs as fast as he could. He tore down the street, going slow enough to peer down alleyways and listen for sounds of a scuffle. He found Steve on the alley just after the orphanage which would explain why he hadn’t seen him on his walk to the apartment.

The guy towering over Steve had to be eleven or twelve and Bucky was briefly concerned about how he was going to drag Steve out of this one. He was much bigger than Bucky was used to. There was also another smaller boy, almost as small as Steve, cowering on the ground with his head between his knees. Steve was on the ground but dragging himself to his feet with a groan, eyes hard set and determined. He wiped the blood leaking from his nose with the back of his hand and winced, holding his side as he tried to steady himself. His cheek was bruising and the boy who was standing over him was shaking his hand out. Oh good, he didn’t actually know how to fight. That was relieving.

“Well, I can’t say this is surprising,” Bucky noted, sauntering into the alley and grinning like a cat cornering a mouse. He wasn’t feeling near as confident as he was acting, but he’d perfected the art of squashing his panic and anger and making this seem like just another day on the job. In a way, it was. The boy beating up on Steve paused and then turned to frown at Bucky.

“Beat it, kid,” he spat, as though he were centuries older than Bucky. Bucky rolled his eyes.

“No can do, pal. You see, that scrawny little guy you’re about to hit is my friend,” Bucky shrugged, making his face sympathetic as though he understood that this guy needed to beat up Steve and he was really sorry that he had to stop him. The guy snorted.

“Well that’s just too bad,” he said and then made the mistake of turning and punching Steve again. Steve hit the ground with a startled sound of pain and Bucky had surged forward before he’d even made the conscious decision to move. Without any preamble, Bucky kicked the boy hard right between the legs. He let out a very undignified yelp and covered himself with both hands, falling to his knees.

Bucky knew better than to hit a man from behind while he was down. He’d already sunk low enough by attacking him when his back was turned. Not that this guy deserved common courtesy, attacking boys younger and smaller than him. It was actually kinda disgusting. Nevertheless, Bucky circled around to stand between Steve and the boy, fists up in a ready stance.

“If you leave now, this really doesn’t have to get much worse.”

“Fuck you,” the guy snapped and spat at Bucky and yup, that was new. Bucky stared down at the spit on his shoe, shrugged, and waited. The guy seemed to realize Bucky wanted a fair fight and managed to struggle to his feet. He put his fists up in a mirror image of Bucky’s but he clearly hadn’t been trained. Bucky smirked. His Sunday evenings were still reserved for training with Frank at the local rink. He wasn’t anywhere near as good as his father yet but he was getting there. He’d be damned if he lost a fight to some amateur punk who was beating up on his friend.

Bucky was smart enough not to make the first move and this guy seemed to know it too which would mean Bucky won faster. The boy would get impatient and swing eventually and impatience meant you were sloppy. Sloppiness meant you lost. As Bucky waited, keeping his feet planted, he cleared his mind of his concern for Steve and his anger that this was happening yet again. If his mind was jumbled this wasn’t going to end well.

Bully #123 got fed up just as Bucky had predicted. He swung out sloppily in his anger and Bucky ducked easily, delivering a solid punch to the bullies torso and then coming back up in perfect stance, eyes narrowed dangerously. The bully wheezed in surprise and then let out an indignant cry as he swung out at Bucky. Bucky sidestepped and his arm snapped out, punching the asshole in the cheek. His fist was hurting but he didn’t pause to shake it out.

Asshole stumbled back, clutching at his face and staring at Bucky in shock.

“Leave,” Bucky growled out, all of the good humor drained from his tone. He didn’t actually want Asshole to leave though. Bucky wanted to keep hitting him and maybe get hit a few times and take all his pent up anger out on this stupid fucker’s face. He was mad that his parents had been taken still but now he was mad at God for making Steve so perfect and amazing inside and then dumping him into a body that couldn’t keep up with all the good he wanted to do. It was cruel and it was cruel that people kept saying Steve was going to die young. And he was pissed that everybody seemed to think it was okay to hit Steve and pick on him. He wanted to rip this guy’s face off, just to teach the whole of Brooklyn a lesson:

Don’t touch Steve Rogers.

Asshole did not seem to be catching on to the darkness surging up inside Bucky. He merely scowled, stepped forward, and put all his weight into a swing. Bad idea. Bucky sidestepped and grabbed his arm, using his forward momentum and all his own strength to flip him over Bucky’s shoulder so he landed hard on the ground behind him, narrowly missing Steve who had wisely jumped to the side. Bucky came down on Asshole, putting a knee to his chest and shoving his forearm up under his chin, pressing down and cutting off his airway.

“When I let you go, you’re gonna get out of here. And if you ever see my friend again, you’re gonna look down at your shoes and walk the other way. You hear me?” Bucky growled, glaring down at him darkly. Choking and scrabbling at Bucky’s arm, he nodded and continued to strain. Bucky sighed and stood, watching as Asshole scrambled to his feet and pelted out of the alley.

As soon as he was gone, Bucky turned to narrow a glare in Steve’s direction who was regarding him with half-annoyed, half-resigned expression. Bucky wanted to smack it off of him.

“What the hell were you _thinkin’_?!” Bucky demanded, eyes wide and hands balled into fists as he glowered down at Steve. Steve rose to his full height - or as close as he could manage with his injuries - and glared right on back.

“He was beating up on that kid over there. I couldn’t stand by and just watch!” Steve shouted back, jaw set difiantly.

“Yes, Steve, you could have. It’s called _walking away and gettin’ the cops_!” he snapped, taking a menacing step forward that didn’t intimidate Steve in the least.

“There were no cops close by and I didn’t know where to go to find one. At least, not somewhere that wouldn’t take forever to get to,” Steve argued. Bucky rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?” he growled out, stepping forward again until their noses were almost touching.

“It’s the truth, Bucky. Look...I’m fine. Calm down,” he tried to soothe. That only proved to irritate Bucky further.

“You’re fine?! You’re _fine_?!” he repeated loudly. “Steve, your breathing is all funny and you’re nose is bleeding and you’ve gotta nasty bruise already growin’ on your cheek! I don’t know what _you_ call fine, but that ain’t what _I_ call it!” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Oh, now you’re just bein’ dramatic.”

“Steve...,” he snarled, but before he could continue a flicker of movement had both him and Steve turning to frown down at the smaller boy who had stepped forward to get their attention. He had a mop of curly red hair, pale skin generously anointed with freckles, and a small, wiry frame. There was a pair of circular glasses perched on his nose and, like Steve, his clothes were a size or two too big. He was already developing a black eye and he looked pathetic, but Bucky refused to feel sorry for him.

“Look, I’m real sorry for intrruptin’ and gettin’ you hurt n’ all, but I just wanted to say thank ya for buttin’ in like that. I’d prolly be dead righ’ now if it weren’t for you,” he drawled, his tone heavily Southern. Bucky narrowed his eyes at him and Steve smiled his broad, warm smile that made you double check to see if the sun had come out after all.

“Yeah, well, you’re welcome. Now get home before your ma worries,” Bucky snapped and Steve cut him a sharp look, jabbing an elbow into his side.

“Sorry about him, pal. He’s just grumpy. What’s your name?” Steve asked, still smiling his warm smile and _no_. Just...no. Bucky was going to stay mad at him this time. For at _least_ two hours.

“Jamie,” the boy answered timidly. His eyes kept shifting to Bucky nervously, like he were afraid Bucky would snap and start beating on him. As far as Bucky was concerned, this kid was indirectly responsible for Steve’s injuries, so he didn’t blame him for being worried.

“Well, hi Jamie. It’s nice to meet ya. I’m Steve and this is my best friend, Bucky,” Steve introduced, shoving his hand out for Jamie to shake. And...dammit but Bucky’s anger almost completely faded in the face of Steve introducing him as his best friend. He deflated and shot Jamie an apologetic, lopsided grin that caused the boy to relax and shake Steve’s hand firmly. Bucky tucked one hand into his pocket and offered his other to shake as well.

“Yeah, it’s real nice to make your acquaintance, Jamie.” Bucky made sure his voice was nice and syrupy sweet, so the boy would stop looking frightened of him. Jamie tentatively shook Bucky’s hand.

“Its nice ta meet y’all too,” he murmured shyly, shoving the glasses back up his nose.

“So who was that bozo and what was he doing, beatin’ up on a swell kid like yourself?”Steve asked, his expression hardening. Jamie seemed to shrink in on himself, hands going into his pockets and bright amber eyes dropping down to his shoes. He sighed.

“That was my step brother, Carl. This real mean lady, Bridget, came down to Virginia for a visit with her sister or somethin’. She met my pa and he got real smitten, married her only two week after meetin’ her. Then she and her son - that’d be Carl - had us move up here, cos she don’t like all the bugs down in Virginia or somethin’. I dunno. Carl don’t like me much though and his ma made him take me into town. He took my money to pay for an orange but wouldn’t give me none, so I tried to hit em. And well...you know the rest.”

Steve and Bucky glanced at each other and then back to the kid. That was a remarkably similar story to the one Steve had given Bucky the day they’d met, only Jamie had been standing up for himself. Bucky felt the last of his anger towards the boy drain away and he heaved a sigh.

“Next time, you come get me and I’ll deal with him once and for all,” Bucky assured him. Steve made a face that said he less than approved but Bucky ignored him. Jamie smiled at him hugely, revealing a gap in his two front teeth. Bucky frowned at him. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Eight,” he answered with a confused look. Bucky was surrounded by leprechauns (he was already almost as tall as Sarah too. Everyone was tiny).

“Figures,” he grumbled and then turned his gaze on Steve. He looked tired and his nose was beginning to drip blood again. He was favoring one of his ankles and he had a hand settled on his side, looking like he was trying to be discreet. Bucky sighed and stepped towards him, touching the corner of his swelling eye. Steve winced and turned a nervous scowl on his friend.

“Listen, Jamie, we gotta get home. You should do the same,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes at Steve before turning to smile at Jamie who was gazing nervously in the direction of home. Bucky sighed for the five thousandth time.

“You’ll be okay, right?” Steve asked. Jamie blinked and smiled brightly over at them.

“Yeah, I’ll be all right. Thanks again, guys.” He waved vaguely at them and then stuffed his hand back into his pocket, making his way slowly back in the direction of his home. Steve and Bucky watched him go for a moment before Bucky grabbed Steve by the scruff of his neck and began to haul him back home to patch him up.

***

Jamie became an unfortunate fixture in their lives after that.

Steve seemed to think he was great and amusing but Bucky just found him annoying. Steve struggled to keep up, even on good days, but he managed better than Jamie and that was just because Steve was graceful, even if he was sick all the time. Jamie was actually the clumsiest person Bucky had ever had the misfortune of knowing. He would trip over thin air if he wasn’t completely focused on where he was putting his feet and the too-big shoes were doing nothing for him.

He idolized Steve though and it made Steve more confident, even if he didn’t notice it was happening. So Bucky couldn’t find it in him to make the kid leave with a solid fist to the nose. Bucky could put up with the clumsiness just fine. But his real struggle came with Jamie introducing Steve to his father and anyone else new they came across as his best friend. Bucky had to resist the urge to strangle him or start screaming every time it happened.

Bucky had taken to frustrating Jamie by speaking to Steve in Irish, making Steve laugh or smack him upside the head. Jamie tried to ask to learn Irish too but Bucky had insisted it was their thing and Jamie could have no part in it. Bucky expected Steve to argue but he’d only flushed beet red and stared at Bucky like he’d hung the moon in the sky. Later, when Bucky mentioned it was Steve’s birthday soon, Steve had explained to Jamie that his party was just for family. When Jamie asked why Bucky got to go then, Steve had blinked at him like he honestly hadn’t anticipated the question. Like he couldn’t fathom anyone _not_ considering Bucky his family.

“Buck’s been around for ages, Jamie.” A little less than a year, actually. “I think he’s earned his right for family by now.”

After that, Bucky was a little less angry at Jamie all the time.

When Steve’s birthday finally rolled around, Bucky thought he’d implode with nerves. He’d set up a deal with Frank that if he cleaned up at the rink and worked when he could - which often included weekends - then he would pay Bucky so he could save up for a proper gift for Steve. He’d been working for months now, a solid three weeks before his own birthday, and had finally achieved his goal. He’d even had enough leftover after buying Steve’s gift to get wrapping paper.

He was almost one hundred percent certain that Steve would love the gift but he was also almost one hundred percent certain that Steve would be pissed that he’d spent so much money on him. Hence, the nerves. Bucky wanted Steve to have the greatest birthday ever, which meant he couldn’t be pissed. But Bucky wasn’t sure how he could avoid that.

Sighing, he shoved the thought aside and used the key Sarah had gotten made for him as a birthday present back in March to barge his way inside.

“Honey, I’m home!” he sang as he thrust the door open. He heard Sarah’s soft laughter spill out from the kitchen and grinned in response.

“Bucky!” Steve cried, his door banging loudly against the wall in his haste. Bucky’s grin broadened and he dropped the gift on the couch to hug Steve back as he barrelled into him. Bucky hadn’t seen him since Friday - a full twenty four hours! - because he’d had to work his last shift with Frank which was why he’d been able to pay for the wrapping paper.

“Hey, Stevie,” he said into his neck, breathing him in, relieved that he was in one piece. It was good to know that Steve wouldn’t get himself killed while Bucky was away, though Bucky never intended to leave him. “Happy birthday!” Steve laughed nervously and pulled back, his face bright red and eyes a little panicked as he glanced back at his mom who was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, drying her hands off. She looked just as confused as Bucky felt when Steve lurched back a couple steps.

“Thanks, Buck. I-” He froze, eyes landing on the gift. Bucky flinched and stuffed his hands in his pockets, grinning as Steve turned slowly to gaze at him again.

“What,” he snarled, “is that?” His voice was low and dangerous and if he were any bigger, Bucky might have been a little afraid for his personal well being.

“Your birthday present,” he answered with a shrug. Steve narrowed his eyes into a razor sharp scowl.

“How much?” he demanded. Bucky glared back.

“Not telling. It’s a gift. That would defeat the purpose.”

“Is this why you’ve been working at Frank’s?”

“Yep.”

“You. Are. Ridiculous,” Steve snarled, each word punctuated by a punch to Bucky’s chest. Bucky sighed and rolled his eyes, catching Steve’s wrist with one hand and rubbing at his chest with the other.

“Can’t you just say thank you for once?” he asked, exasperated. Steve stared at him for a second, his glare dissolving into something awed and tender. Bucky felt a little uncomfortable being looked at like that, like Steve didn’t understand how he could deserve him. That was how _Bucky_ was supposed to look at _Steve_ , not the other way around.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, a smile spreading across his lips. Bucky beamed back.

“You’re welcome, Stevie.” Steve’s expression settled back into a glower.

“You’re still ridiculous though,” he reminded him and snatched his wrist back - Bucky hadn’t even realized he’d still been holding it. Bucky glanced over to see Sarah laughing at them quietly from her place in the kitchen doorway, one hand covering her mouth as her eyes danced with mirth. Bucky grinned back and Steve rolled his eyes, grabbing Bucky’s gift and dumping it unceremoniously onto the dining room table.

“You boys,” Sarah said with a shake of her head. “I will never understand how you don’t kill each other.”

“I’m still workin’ that out myself,” Steve grumbled, plopping back into his chair and folding his arms to more effectively sulk. Bucky rolled his eyes this time and sat down next to him, sprawling out in the seat and smirking over at his friend. He reached out and ruffled his hair.

“S’cos he loves me too much to kill me,” Bucky explained and Steve made an indignant noise, flushing furiously and swatting at Bucky’s hand. Sarah laughed again and shook her head, disappearing back into the kitchen.

“Dinner will be ready in about five minutes. Steve, why don’t you go ahead and open your present,” she called back to them. Steve didn’t like having all eyes on him (probably because he wasn’t used to it) so he wouldn’t appreciate her hawk like attention, though she was painfully curious about what Bucky had gotten her son.

Bucky turned a nervous, sheepish smile on Steve, pushing the wrapped box in his direction. Steve scowled at him for a second before sighing and scooping it up. The wrapping paper looked expensive, so he took his time carefully picking at the tape and unfolding it. Bucky had seen exactly how much it had cost, so he didn’t rush Steve, though he thought he was going to go out of his mind any second now. Steve set the wrapping paper aside gently and then lifted the lid off of the box.

Instantly, he froze, his eyes going almost comically wide as he stared at the contents. The lid started trembling in his hand.

“Steve?” Bucky asked anxiously. Slowly, Steve set the lid on the table and reached inside to lift the sketchbook out. He leaned back against his chair like he didn’t trust himself to stay upright on his own and stared at the black canvas book in his hand. He blinked and a tear dripped onto the surface. He quickly swiped it away with his sleeve, checking for damage. Bucky couldn’t help but to grin.

He liked it.

Sarah, who had grown concerned at the sudden silence, poked her head out of the kitchen and gasped, one hand flying up to cover her mouth. That seemed to break Steve of his reverie, looking up to blink owlishly at Bucky.

“Buck...,”  he whispered. “This...I can’t believe.... _thank you_.” He set the sketchbook down and then practically tackled Bucky, gripping him in such a tight hug that Bucky could barely breathe. He didn’t mind though. He’d made Steve happy.

Bucky hugged Steve back just as tightly, burying his face in Steve’s neck and breathing in that familiar scent; vanilla and apples.

“You’re welcome, Stevie. I’m glad you like it.”

“Like it?! I _love_ it, you jerk! I didn’t need somethin’ so expensive and I still wish you woulda spent your hard earned money on somethin’ for yourself, but it’s perfect. I _love_ it.” Steve had pulled back just enough to stare Bucky in the eyes, both hands gripping his shoulders. Bucky beamed back so widely, his eyes crinkled. Steve grinned back just as broadly.

Bucky decided right then and there that he was going to spend the rest of his life doing everything he could to put that smile on Steve’s face as often as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter was crap. I'm still improving my writing and my style and stuff, so everything I write always feels like it needs loads more work. Also, I know some of Bucky's moves in that fight were kind of impossible for a nine year old, but I was told by my beta and girlfriend (substepback) to leave it as well as by two of my best friends, so blame them if it's shitty. Lol, anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! Kudos and comments are appreciated! Thanks for reading!


	5. Love is a Fight and a Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve and Bucky realize they're in love with each other and do nothing about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, wow, I'm late again and I don't even have a valid excuse. I'm just a lazy motherfucker. Although I did have a lot of homework. And Arrow. And Supernatural. And I had to catch up on Flash 'cause I missed an episode, and I was moving over the weekend but I had the time to upload....anyway, I'm just making excuses now. Lol, I'm sorry guys! I promise to do my best not to do this again! I love you all so much for reading this! Thank you!
> 
> WARNINGS: Once again, Steve is a little shit and wants to fight the whole world, so he gets injured again and it's pretty bad, so be warned. I think that should be it. Let me know if there's anything I missed guys!

“What do you mean you’re not going to homecoming?” Jamie demanded, looking up from his shoddy attempt at a drawing to stare at Steve with wide eyes. Steve rolled his own eyes, not otherwise looking up from his own sketch. It was a challenge to sketch with Bucky’s sleeping head in his lap, but he’d had years of practice now.

Six years to be exact.

He was practically a master.

“I’m just not interested, Jamie,” he sighed, his eyes wandering to Bucky of their own accord. Steve exhaled slowly, giving into the temptation and reaching out to card his fingers through his best friend’s hair. It wasn’t as though it was weird for them to act this way with each other. They’d always been more affectionate and touchy than the other boys, even more so than they were with Jamie. Jamie was used to it, had even stopped noticing it as strange ages ago.

Still. Steve had never forgotten the conversation he’d had with his mother when he was eight and he always tried to resist his urges where Bucky was involved for as long as possible.

“But Molly fucking Saunders asked you to go with her!” Jamie protested. Steve looked up sharply to glower at his younger friend. The factory where Bucky was working was rubbing off on Bucky, making him curse more, and therefore, Jamie was cursing more. Jamie hero worshiped Steve, but he looked to Bucky for guidance on how to be “cool.” Which isn’t to say that Bucky had explicitly told him that cussing was cool, he just did it all the time so Jamie just assumed that it _had_ to be cool.

Steve was less than thrilled. Jamie was only thirteen for God’s sake.

“She probably lost a bet or something,” Steve said, deciding it was useless to comment on the language. Bucky rolled to his side and muttered in his sleep, brow creasing and his hand flopping uselessly to the ground. Steve frowned at the cuts on his knuckles, gently taking his hand and brushing his thumb over the wounds.

The cussing wasn’t the only thing Bucky was bringing home with him from the factory. He carried with him a cloud of exhaustion and new wounds every day. He slept any chance he got now and refused to talk about his job, said it would only worry him and Sarah more. Which, yeah, Steve could agree with that but he still thought Bucky was being ridiculous. Steve was going to worry no matter what. Especially since that time Bucky had come home shaking and in tears. Steve’d had to hold him the entire night because every time he tried to let him go, Bucky started freaking out again.

After the third night he woke up with nightmares during Friday night sleepovers, he said one of the kids - Tucker - who’d reminded Bucky of Steve had been killed on the job. He refused to give any more details and wouldn’t talk about it after that. He still had the nightmares sometimes though.

Jamie noticed Steve’s distracted expression as he studied Bucky’s wounds and rolled his eyes, standing and exiting the room to get the first aid kit. Steve was going to be useless until he’d taken care of his Bucky. Steve smiled gratefully when Jamie passed him the box and flipped it open, pulling out the antiseptic wipes.

“You don’t know that for sure,” Jamie warned him. Steve ignored him for a moment as he gently swiped at the cuts with the wipe. Bucky grumbled and shifted in his sleep but didn’t wake up. Steve set the wipe to the side and pulled out the gauze, frowning over at Jamie.

“Know what for sure?” he asked before turning back to watch as he carefully wound the gauze around Bucky’s hand.

“That she lost a bet.” Steve rolled his eyes again and scooped up the scissors to cut the gauze, smoothing it down against the part wrapped around his hand and then grabbing the medical tape. He cut of a small strip of that and then applied it to the gauze so it wouldn’t come undone.

“I don’t know for sure that she didn’t, either,” he reminded Jamie.

“You’ll never know if you don’t go.”

“But my chances of getting embarrassed in front of the entire school go down one hundred percent if I don’t go.”

“What are you bozos goin’ on about?” Bucky slurred, eyes still closed as he rolled over and pressed his face into Steve’s stomach. Steve smiled fondly and shook his head, tugging gently at Bucky’s ear.

“Sit up, jerk. I wanna look at your other hand.”

“M’fine. Stop avoidin’ the question.”

“Steve says he’s not going to homecoming.” Steve sighed and shot Jamie an exasperated expression.

“What?” Bucky asked, sitting up with a disgruntled expression. “Didn’t Molly Saunders ask you to take her?” Steve was actually surprised Bucky remembered that; he’d been half-asleep when Steve had told him and barely commented before passing out. He heaved another sigh and shook his head, reaching out and taking Bucky’s other hand to wrap it up as well.

“She did,” he admitted. “I’m just not interested.” At that, he shot Jamie a withering look, making him shrink back against the wall.

“Steve,” Bucky said around a sigh of his own as he watched his friend patch him up. “It’s our first homecoming. You gotta come,” he insisted.

“I don’t want to.”

“ _Why_?”

“He’s afraid she only asked because she lost a bet.” Today. Today was the day that Steve took Jamie’s life.

“You can’t know that for sure,” Bucky said, his tone colored with disapproval.

“That’s what _I_ told him,” Jamie agreed proudly. Maybe Steve would smother him with his own pillow. Or steal Mr. Kent’s gun and shoot him in the head.

“And, like I said, I can’t know that it’s not true for sure, either. I’m taking the safe road on this one.”

“That’s ridiculous, Steve. You can’t just miss your first homecoming because you’re paranoid,” Bucky insisted. Steve rolled his eyes and closed the first aid kit with a snap.

“Yeah, Steve. You gotta go.” Steve decided shooting him would be too quick and merciful. Smothering it was. He’d save the bullets for _Bucky_.

“Look, can we just not talk about this? Please? I just want to sketch. I barely have any time for it anymore because of all my stupid fucking homework.” Bucky studied Steve for a moment but ultimately decided against pushing it. Steve only cursed in front of Jamie when he was really irritated. He didn’t want to make it worse.

“Fine, but only because I need to catch up on my sleep,” Bucky warned him, putting his head back down in Steve’s lap. Steve smiled, feeling triumphant. Jamie sighed and rolled his eyes, taking the first aid kit and carrying it back into the bathroom.

“You fell asleep before I could ask you about work,” Steve noted as he began to card his fingers through Bucky’s hair again, scraping his nails gently over his scalp the way he knew Bucky liked. Bucky hummed happily and buried his face in Steve’s stomach, taking the deep breath he always did whenever he was trying to draw comfort from Steve.

“It was fine,” he mumbled. Steve frowned a bit but didn’t push. He knew by now that it was useless. “What sketch are you workin’ on today?”

“The one of you.” Bucky frowned in response.

“That creepy as fuck one for art class?” Steve didn’t think it was creepy, just different. He was drawing one side of Bucky’s face happy and one side sad. They were supposed to be working on using two different colors and only those two colors to show different aspects of the same picture or theme or whatever. Steve had chosen blue and light purple; purple for the happy side and blue for the sad one.

“It’s not creepy,” Steve reprimanded. Bucky snorted.

“How’s it comin’?”

“Good. It’d be better if I could work on it with you here. And awake.” Bucky opened his eyes, but his face was even more tired than it had been before.

“I’m sorry, Stevie,” he murmured and Steve smiled reassuringly, reaching out to brush his knuckles along Bucky’s cheekbone.

“It’s all right, Buck. I know why you’re doing it. I’m proud of you. Just...you’re being careful, right?” Bucky smiled and shook his head, hiding his face in Steve’s stomach again and closing his eyes.

“Yeah, ‘course I am. Someone's gotta come home to take care of your ass, don’t they?” Steve rolled his eyes and flicked Bucky’s nose, making him snicker and rub it against Steve’s belly. Jamie came in then and Bucky quieted, likely wanting to sleep now. Steve let him, reaching out to continue his sketch.

Jamie bided his time; waiting until he was absolutely certain Bucky was asleep before speaking.

“I know why you really don’t want to go to the dance,” he muttered. Steve was too engrossed in his sketching to really pay attention to what he was saying.

“Hmm?” he hummed in acknowledgement. Jamie continued to stare at him.

“Because you can’t go with Bucky.” Steve stilled for a moment before looking up sharply at Jamie.

“What are you talking about?” Jamie scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Y’all act like I’m stupid or somethin’, but I ain’t,” he snapped. His Southern accent, which had faded since his time in the north, always came back with a vengeance when he was angry or embarrassed. “I see the way you act around him. It’s the same way my pa used to act with my step mom. You wanna go with him to the dance.”

“Jamie, you have two seconds to shut your goddamn mouth before I forget that Bucky needs his sleep and lunge across this room to rip your tongue out. Got it? If you keep talkin’ like that, someone’s gonna hear you and then they’ll hurt me and Bucky and if you’re the reason anything happens to him, I _will_ kill you. You understand me?” Jamie blinked at him in shock. He’d never seen Steve look so downright terrifying before. He was so small and sick all the time, he honestly hadn’t thought he’d had it in him. But, then again, he should have guessed that Steve could be surprisingly terrifying when it came to his family.

“All right, fine. I’m sorry I brought it up. I’m just...it’s _obvious_ , Steve. I’m not gonna get him hurt. _You_ are.” Steve flinched violently and blinked down at Bucky, feeling panicked. His mother had warned him of the same thing, when he was younger, and he’d never stopped being afraid of it. He’d been so _careful_ though. He was sure of it.

“Maybe...maybe you just see it because you know us...,” he whispered, desperate. He couldn’t just change the way he acted around Bucky. Bucky would be confused and hurt and yeah, Steve could just tell him why he was acting different but Steve was almost even more afraid of that than he was of someone else seeing the way he looked at Bucky. If he lost Bucky, he didn’t know what he’d do. He’d lose his fucking mind, that’s what he’d do.

“Maybe...,” Jamie agreed, sighing. “I keep hintin’ at what I’m trying to say but you’re really not gettin’ it, Steve. You should go to the dance with Molly just to show people you aren’t...you know.... _queer_.” Steve blinked over at Jamie and...Huh. Okay. That actually wasn’t a completely ridiculous idea. He exhaled explosively and looked back down at Bucky, tangling his fingers gently in his hair and rubbing his thumb along Bucky’s temple.

“I’ll think about it,” he amended. “I’m sorry I blew up on you. I’d never...I won’t actually kill you, Jamie. Just...ya know, yell a lot.” Jamie nodded, satisfied, and picked his sketch book back up. Steve shook his head and flipped to the landscape sketch he’d been working on.

***

Bucky was going to kill Steve.

You know, if he wasn’t already dead.

Bucky’s fingers curled into fists and he swallowed a growl, stalking down the street with a dark storm of rage swirling around him. Jamie and every other pedestrian were giving him a wide birth, eyeing him warily. He was on a warpath, out for blood, and if you were smart, you’d get out of his fucking way. Right now, everyone else was collateral damage to Bucky.

“I’m gonna light him on fire,” Bucky snarled. “And then I’m going to bring him back to life and shoot him in the fuckin’ head.” Jamie dodged a crate of apples, tripping and falling on his face despite himself. Bucky didn’t even slow down to wait for him. With a disgruntled huff, Jamie bounced back to his feet, righted his clothes, and hurried after Bucky.

“In his defense,” Jamie panted, struggling to keep up. He stumbled again but remained upright. “The guy was followin’ this lady and bein’ a creep.”

“I don’t _care_. He probably wasn’t even actually going to _do_ anything and even if he was, he shoulda gotten the cops!”

“They ain’t gonna do anything,” Jamie groused, narrowly avoiding a pole.

“You know what, Jamie?”

“...what...?” he asked warily when Bucky didn’t continue right away.

“I’m gonna kill you too. Right after I’m done with Steve. Kay?” Jamie rolled his eyes.

“Whatever. He’s in the second alley on the left,” Jamie responded. He’d stopped responding to both Bucky and Steve’s empty threats to his life _months_ ago. Now that Bucky had an actual destination, he added a burst of speed that left Jamie in the dust, rounding the corner. He almost immediately lurched to a stop, a hand flying to his mouth as he felt bile climbing up his throat.

There was no thug in sight, but Steve was a crumpled heap on the ground. And he wasn’t moving.

“Oh Christ,” Jamie hissed, skidding to a halt just behind Bucky and staring in shock. He shouldn’t have left Steve alone! But...it had never been this bad before. Usually he went and got Bucky and Bucky swooped in and kicked ass and Steve was a little bruised but generally fine. But now...

“Steve!” Bucky shouted, sprinting down the alley and collapsing at his side. “Steve? Steve! Oh god, answer me, dammit!” he shouted, rolling him over. Steve groaned, coughing hard. His breath was coming in broken, wheezing gasps. Both Jamie and Bucky relaxed minutely. He was alive.

“Jesus shit,” Bucky breathed, rubbing at his forehead and taking deep, slow breaths. Steve’s face was a bloody mess. His left eye was swollen and the other was bloodshot and ringed in red when he blinked them open for half a second before the light had him snapping them closed again. His lower lip was obviously busted and there was a bruise forming around the shallow cut at his temple. Blood trickled steadily from his nose (which luckily didn’t look broken) and there was probably more trouble that neither of them could see.

“Steve, are you all right? How bad is it?”

“Bu-Buck?”

“Yeah, chol, it’s me. Can you walk?” Steve’s only response was a groan. Bucky cursed again and ran a hand down his face, studying Steve’s body. “If I pick you up, will it hurt too bad?”

“I...I don’ know,” Steve slurred, voice thick and awkward because of his lip.

“Where else are you hurt?”

“...’e kicked mah side....hurts...”

“Anywhere else?” Jamie eyed Bucky warily. He was trembling so badly, he practically vibrated. Jamie was concerned that he’d implode.

“Don’ fink so...wai’...mah arm...e’ twisted eh.”

“Is it broken?!” Bucky shouted, eyes widening impossibly. Steve shook his head and then groaned, lifting his good hand to cover his eyes. Bucky relaxed again, taking deep breaths and closing his eyes as he struggled for his center of calm.

“Okay...okay...Steve? I’m gonna pick you up now, all right? You ready?”

“...yeah.” He nodded, visibly bracing himself. Taking one final, calming breath, Bucky shuffled forward and tucked one arm under Steve’s knees, winding the other behind his back. He gathered his feet beneath him and rose slowly, pulling Steve up with him. Steve flinched and gritted his teeth, which had to hurt even worse.

“Sorry, sorry,” Bucky panted, watching Steve’s face anxiously. Steve shook his head a little and shifted to rest his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky resituated him in his arms to make sure his grip was secured and then glanced at Jamie.

“Walk ahead, see if you can help clear a path for us,” he ordered, trying to portray with his eyes that he didn’t blame Jamie for this at all. Jamie nodded and scampered out of the alleyway.

The walk home was long and difficult, but Bucky refused to stop and rest no matter how many times Steve whined and tugged at his shirt. He just shook his head and gritted his teeth and kept marching on. Jamie continued to glance back at them anxiously, shouting for people to clear the way and glaring his best glare at the people who attempted to walk _through_ him.

“I hope you know you’re an idiot,” Bucky muttered to Steve through his grinding teeth and panting breath.

“Love you too,” Steve slurred and Bucky swallowed a whine, pressing his cheek against Steve’s forehead and quickening his pace as much as he could manage.

While Bucky was struggling up the steps, Jamie hurried ahead and grabbed the key under the brick; unlocking the door and leaving it open for Steve and Bucky as he sprinted through the house to get the first aid kit together. Bucky nearly groaned with relief as he finally got to set Steve down on the sink counter of the kitchen.

Steve leaned back against the cupboards, watching with a racing heart as Bucky carefully peeled off the blonde’s jacket and set it to the side. Bucky was in the process of guiding his suspenders off his shoulders when Jamie came pelting back in with the first aid kit and set it on top of Steve’s jacket. Bucky hesitated and glanced over at him.

“Hey, Jamie?”

“Yeah?”

“Sarah needs to know what’s going on. Would you mind going to the hospital and letting her know?”

“Yeah, sure! Of course!”

“Make sure she knows he’s generally fine and I’ve got it covered, she doesn’t need to come home. Just...she needs to know.” Jamie nodded vigorously and saluted Bucky, shooting Steve one last worried look before he sprinted back out of the apartment. Bucky smiled tiredly but fondly and then turned back to Steve. Steve eyed him.

“You gonna yell?” he asked. Bucky scowled and shook his head, going over to the fridge and grabbing a towel as he went.

“No. You’ve heard the rant but you’re never really listening. It’s not worth my breath anymore.” He angrily filled the towel up with ice and stalked back over to Steve. He thrusted the makeshift ice pack out to Steve, his glare dissolving when he saw Steve’s crestfallen expression. He sighed and slumped his shoulders, guiding Steve’s hand to his lip so he knew where he wanted the ice to go. While Steve held the ice to his busted lip, Bucky untucked and unbuttoned his shirt, leaving it on but pushing it open so he could study his side.

He winced and began to ghost his fingers softly across Steve’s skin. “Well, it’s a nasty bruise, but I don’t think anything’s broken. We’ll get your ma to double check later tonight.” Steve nodded mutely, gaze on the floor. Bucky sighed and shook his head, opening the first aid kit and pulling an antiseptic wipe out. He began to dab it gently against the cut on Steve’s temple.

He worked in relative silence; ears tuned into Steve’s breathing to make sure nothing went weird. Steve didn’t say anything, just let Bucky clean his cuts and wrap his ribs and give him fresh ice and something to drink. The whole time, he simply watched Bucky’s face, studied the crease in his brow and the worry in his eyes that made him blink rapidly. He’d drawn this face with this exact expression a thousand times. He’d memorized the gentle sweep of chocolate brown eyelashes and the glistening shade of jewel blue eyes. He’d never forget the way Bucky chewed on his lower lip when he was trying not to rant at Steve. All he could think was:

_God help me, but I am so in love with you._

Steve had known for quite some time that he had a crush on Bucky. He’d basically been dealing with it since he was eight years old. And part of dealing with it was very rarely letting himself think about it. But now, looking at Bucky blinking rapidly through his worry, he couldn’t _not_ think about it. It was like he’d opened a flood gate and all the pent up emotions came tumbling out.

He didn’t even realize he was crying until Bucky’s eyes went wide and he dropped the medical tape he’d been about to cut to hold the gauze together for his hand.

“Steve?” he asked, worriedly searching his eyes. Steve just shook his head, sucking in a shuddering breath and closing his eyes. Bucky curled his fingers in the short hair at the base of Steve’s skull and gently brought their foreheads together, mindful of the cut at his temple.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered, shoulders shaking. He wasn’t just apologizing for the fight, although that was part of it. He was apologizing for the danger his feelings put Bucky in, too. Bucky let out a soft, gentle noise and nudged Steve’s legs apart, stepping between them and pulling Steve in for a proper hug.

“It’s okay,” Bucky murmured, turning his head slightly to press his lips into Steve’s golden blonde hair. Steve closed his eyes and tried not to give a full body shudder. “It’s all right. I know you just want to help. It’s okay. I’m not even mad. I just...I worry about you, Stevie.” He pulled back to press their foreheads together again. Steve opened his eyes to meet Bucky’s bright blue gaze. Bucky took a deep breath to prepare himself, his eyes hardening with resolve.

“I know...I know you’ve been lucky so far, not gettin’ killed or dyin’ when every logical part of me says you should have. And I know you wanna do good things, help people the way your pa did and the way your ma does, but _Steve_ , your body just can’t keep up with you. You get sick so easily and your bones are so fragile. Dammit, I’d give every last ounce of strength in my body if it meant _your_ body could do the things your insides are capable of, but that’s not how it works, and I...Steve, I don’t know who the fuck I am without you.

So you have to be careful, all right? You’ve got to be so careful. Not just for yourself, but for your ma. For Jamie and Will. For _me_.”

Steve honestly had no idea how to respond to that - well, aside from “I won’t ever leave you. I love you,” but he didn’t think that’d fly - so he just nodded and shifted to bury his face in Bucky’s neck. Bucky bit his lip and leaned his cheek against Steve, carding his fingers slowly through his hair. They remained that way for a long time, finding comfort in each other and reveling in the gentle touches they both craved.

After almost thirty minutes, Bucky finally pulled back and smoothed Steve’s hair into its proper place. He finished taping up Steve’s hand so the gauze wouldn’t come off and then hesitated only a moment before he lifted Steve’s hand up to brush a soft kiss to his knuckles.

“You should go lay down. You need rest.”

“Rest isn’t going make me heal faster, Buck,” Steve said with an eye roll that was far more in character. Bucky smirked and tugged gently at Steve’s ear, handing him the ice again.

“Humor me.” Steve sighed but nodded and slipped off the counter, batting Bucky’s hands aside when he tried to reach out to help. Bucky watched Steve shuffle down the hall, body tensed to spring into action if he so much as stumbled. Steve really only needed the wall to keep him on track, leaning very little against it. Once he had disappeared into his room, Bucky slumped against the counter and held his head in his hands.

He was still standing that way when Jamie returned, breathing heavily like he’d run the whole way there and back. Knowing Jamie and his dedication, he probably had. Bucky turned his back on the younger boy before brushing away the tears and letting his hands drop.

“Bucky?” Jamie called softly, concerned. Once Bucky was sure he’d pulled himself together, he turned back around and smiled.

“How’d it go? Sarah okay?” Jamie gave Bucky a dubious look but decided not to ask.

“She’s fine. Er, well, she freaked out at first. But that’s probably because I didn’t tell her Steve wasn’t, you know, dying before I told her that he’d gotten the shit beat outta him.” Bucky rolled his eyes, turning to get both him and Jamie a glass of water just to have something to do with his hands. “I finally convinced her not to come rushing home from the hospital. It was a near thing though.”

“That’s good. Thanks for helping out, Jamie.” He passed Jamie his glass of water, avoiding eye contact as he sipped his own water.

“It’s no problem, Buck. How is Steve doin’?” Bucky sighed and shrugged, shuffling into the living room where he’d been catching up on homework while Steve went to pick up Jamie. Steve had insisted the Bucky needed to focus on his school work and that he could handle the short walk on his own. Bucky shook his head to clear his mind of that thought process before he started senselessly blaming himself. He sat back down on the floor and set his cup to the side, scooping up his pencil again.

“He’s all right. He was pretty banged up but he’ll heal just fine,” he murmured, still not glancing up as he pulled his math homework closer to him.

“You think he’ll ever learn?” Bucky snorted and shook his head.

“Yeah, no. He’s never going to stop having something to prove and he’s never going to be able to stand by and watch people get hurt. We’re stuck cleaning up after his sorry ass for the rest of our lives.” Jamie was quiet for a long moment and Bucky was able to work through about three problems before he was speaking again.

“When I was at the hospital, getting ready to leave, I heard these nurses say Steve probably wouldn’t make it past his twenties, cause of how sick he is.” Bucky went absolutely still, the breath freezing in his throat. The pencil in his hand snapped in half. “D’you think that’s true?”

“ _No_ ,” Bucky snarled, shoving the pencils to the side and reaching for a fresh one. “He’s going to be fine, you’ll see. He’ll get his growth spurt and his lungs’ll clear up and his immune system will right itself and he’ll live until he’s 105 and get married and have kids and invite us over for Sunday dinner and be happy. You’ll see. We’ll both see. He’ll outlive us all.”

“How can you be so sure, Buck? He’s sick all the time and when he’s not, he’s gettin’ into fights and pushin’ himself too hard tryin’ to keep up with the rest’a us. My pa says...he says we should prepare ourselves for the time when he’s not here anymore.” Bucky finally glanced up to see Jamie was trying his damndest not to cry. Suddenly he realized he’d been acting like he was the only one who would lose Steve. Jamie would lose him too and Sarah and Will and Mr. Kent and Mrs. Norton.

Bucky sighed and pushed his homework aside, opening his arms. Jamie sniffled and crawled forward, climbing into his lap and allowing Bucky to wrap his arms around him. Bucky rested his chin on the top of Jamie’s shock of ginger hair, staring down the hallway as he spoke.

“I’m so sure because it’s Steve. I mean, you’ve seen him. He’s too stubborn to die before he’s ready and he won’t be ready ‘til he’s punched every thug in New York. That’s a lotta thugs, Jamie, and there’re always new thugs poppin’ up. He’ll be around awhile.”

“But what if he isn’t? What if he gets sick and doesn’t get better?”

“Then...then I’ll march my ass right on down to the gates of Hell and sell my soul to the Devil so he can stick around a bit longer. Or maybe I’ll knock on Heaven’s door and tell ‘em straight up they aren’t allowed to have him yet. Either way, you’ll have to look after him for me, yeah? Think you can do that?”

“Yeah, guess so. But I think Steve’d rather you be around to take care of him yourself.”

“Eh, he’d get used to havin’ you patch up his wounds after a while. I ain’t special.”

“Whatever, Buck. You know that ain’t true. You’re the only one Steve ever really sees.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything at all. Just closed his eyes and kept holding Jamie, to comfort himself as much as to comfort his friend.

***

Jamie’s parents were a lot more religious than Sarah. Sure, she was a Catholic, had been raised that way, but ever since taking on the position of night nurse at the hospital, weekends had been reserved for sleeping and spending time with her sons. She didn’t have the time for services and because of that, Steve and Bucky’s weekends were equally as open. Jamie’s, however, were not, which was actually something of a relief.

Steve and Bucky both loved Jamie and considered him a brother, but it was hard to get time to just the two of them anymore. Which is why Sundays had become their favorite days. They would spend the morning and early afternoon at the rink, Bucky training and Steve helping to clean up so that it would be ready for opening. When Frank shooed them out fifteen minutes before the usuals started arriving, Bucky and Steve would walk down to the park and sit in their spot and sketch for a while. They both did their best not to feel guilty about never having taken Jamie to the pond. It was their place, for their eyes only. That had been agreed the day they met.

This particular Sunday was not as peaceful as Bucky would have liked. He’d made the mistake of bringing up the dance again. He was going with Clara - who’d apparently thought Bucky’d had a crush on her because he was always stealing her food, which just confused Bucky. Why would he steal from her if he had a crush on her? Girls were confusing, which was part of the reason he wanted Steve there. To save him from having to deal with a horde of girls wanting to dance with him.

Also, Steve in a tux.

When he’d brought it up to Steve again, talking as though Steve had already agreed to go in hopes that he would just go with it, Steve had sighed in irritation and reminded him that he wasn’t going. And now they were just arguing, although they weren’t screaming at each other yet. Bucky was proud.

The two of them were stretched out on the ground, heads next to each other and feet spread out in opposite directions as they stared up at the sky. It was going to start getting cold soon and then they’d be spending their Sundays locked in, trying to avoid Steve’s ever present cold. Steve’s sketch was laid out on his stomach, discarded there when they’d started the conversation.

“I don’t see why it’s so important,” Steve groused, not for the first time. Bucky sighed, which was also not a first for this conversation.

“It’s important because I want you there. I don’t see why you’re so opposed to going.” Steve snorted.

“Because I’m not keen on getting embarrassed in front of the entire school.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“I already talked to Molly and she said it wasn’t a bet. She thinks you’re cute.”

“Like she’d tell you if it was a bet. She was probably scared you’d slug her.”

“I wouldn’t hit a girl! Everyone knows that!”

“I dunno, Buck. You punched Bernie and everyone was scared of him before you came along. Maybe they think you’re not above anything.”

“Whatever, that’s not the point. She was real offended that I’d suggest that and actually hit _me_ , so-”

“What?!” Steve snapped, sitting bolt upright. Bucky rolled his eyes again.

“Lay back down, you punk. She had a right. It was kinda a rude question but I asked so your stupid ass wouldn’t have an excuse not to go anymore. As lame as your excuse was in the first place.” Steve huffed and slowly laid back down, turning his head to scowl at Bucky. Bucky grinned and rolled his head to the side to face him. He knew they were too close, but he didn’t want to move, so he stayed were he was. Steve’s cheeks slowly started to turn red and he rolled his eyes, glancing away.

“I don’t even know how to dance,” he grumbled. Bucky’s grin brightened and he rolled to prop himself up on his elbows, face hovering inches above Steve’s whose eyes had gone comically wide and whose cheeks had turned an even brighter shade of red.

Just then, Bucky got a look on his face that Steve had become very familiar with. It was a smile filled with excitement and mischief and anticipation, coupled with a gentleness that was reserved only for Steve. Bucky didn’t show that kind of open, raw emotion with anyone else. It was a special, precious thing.

“I’ll show you,” Bucky said, all confidence, and they were both suddenly swept back to the first day they met, when Steve hadn’t known how to play soldiers and Bucky’d promised to teach him. Steve bit back a smile and shoved at Bucky’s head until he sat back on his hunches, levering himself into a sitting position himself and twisting around to stare skeptically at Bucky.

“There’s no music,” he pointed out. Bucky grinned and leaped to his feet, offering a hand to help Steve up.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, Stevie. I’ll provide the music. ‘Sides, I could teach you without it. It’s real easy.” Steve sighed and rolled his eyes, accepting Bucky’s hand and letting himself be tugged to his feet.

“Can you even sing?” Steve teased. Bucky’s grin shifted into a smirk and he began to hum, low and unhurried, lacing his fingers through Steve’s again and tugging him close. Steve let out a squeak of surprise, catching himself against Bucky’s chest and blinking up at him owlishly with those glittering, sky blue eyes. Bucky parted his lips and began to sing.

“ _There's been a sayin' goin' round_  
And I begin to think it's true  
It's awful hard to love someone  
When they don't care about you”

As he sang, he placed Steve’s hands where they were supposed to go and moved his own hands into place. And then he began to lead Steve through the movements, smiling that smile that made all the girls swoon and stare after him as he moved down the hallway, for whatever reason. Steve looked just as dazed and was more easily moved through the steps.

“ _Once I had a lovin' gal_  
The sweetest little thing in town  
But now she's gone and left me  
She done turn me down”

Suddenly, Bucky was struck with a memory of his mother from ages ago, something he hadn’t thought of in forever. It used to be, back when his parents were alive, that Sundays nights were family nights, none of them were allowed to be anywhere but home. And usually, his mother sat on the couch, curled up and reading a book and pretending to be disapproving while Bucky’s father taught him how to play different card games.

But one Sunday, a song she had a particular fondness for had come on the radio and she’d leaped to her feet with a cry of joy, scooping Bucky up and pulling him into a dance. Bucky had laughed and caught on quickly, the steps coming to him as naturally as singing did.

“Now, Buck,” his mother had said when they’d collapsed back against the couch, panting for breath. “I’ve taught you a valuable lesson today. Because, one day, when you meet the girl you wanna make yours, you’re gonna need to make her love you. And the best way to do that is to take her dancin’. That’s what you’re pa did and it wasn’t long after that when we were on our way to the church.”

Bucky realized right then that he was dancing with Steve for a reason. He wanted Steve to love him the way he loved Steve. It wasn’t even that shocking, realizing that he was in love with Steve. Bucky’d never understood why _everyone_ wasn’t in love with Steve, why they didn’t want him the way Bucky’d always seemed to want him. So he was excited about Molly, excited that there might be someone who could show Steve that he was worth love the way that Bucky wasn’t allowed to show him.

Bucky sighed and leaned his cheek against Steve’s temple, stepping him through the movements of the dance, still singing quietly into Steve’s ear.

“ _I'll sing you love songs, honey, all the time,_  
If you'll only say you'll be sweet gal of mine,  
Oh, I ain't got nobody, nobody cares for me  
  
I'll sing you love songs, honey, all the time,  
If you'll only say you'll be sweet gal of mine,  
Oh, I ain't got nobody, nobody cares for me”

When he finally drew them to a stop, the last line of the song drifting to a close, Steve was still wide eyed and blinking slowly up at him. Bucky smirked at Steve’s stunned expression and bit back a chuckle when Steve swallowed audibly.

“Okay...so you can sing. Good to know.” Bucky really did chuckle this time and reached out to ruffle his best friend’s hair.

“You bet your sweet ass I can. Now,” Bucky clapped his hands loudly and rubbed them together, grinning at Steve like a villain. “It’s time for the foxtrot.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading guys! I really appreciate it! I hope you're all enjoying the fic and that I'm doing Stucky some justice! Please feel free to leave kudos and comments, no matter what you have to say! Love you and have a lovely morning/day/afternoon/evening/night!


	6. Date Night Catastrophe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve's got a date and Bucky teaches him how to kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, wow! Would you look at that! I'm on time today! How refreshing! Well, because of my awesome ability to be punctual this week, I don't really have much to say except that I hope you enjoy it! Thanks!
> 
> WARNINGS: So...Steve gets into another fight again. I'm pretty sure there's been a fight in every single chapter thus far....well, anyway, it's pretty bad and pretty descriptive this time as far as Steve's injuries go, so keep aware of that. Also, there's a dude being creepy and inappropriately flirty with Molly in this chapter which suggests intentions of rape and there are 1920's homophobic slurs in this chapter as well. That should be it, but as always, I can't anticipate everyone's triggers, so if there's anything you think I need to tag or put in a warning about, please let me know.

The dance went well. A little too well, if you asked Steve, which...no one was. Bucky was ecstatic and genuinely confused by Steve’s lack of enthusiasm on the subject. Molly had danced with him the entire night and refused to dance with the two other boys that had asked her. She commented on Steve’s dancing skills which he and Bucky had been working on tirelessly once he’d finally agreed to go to the dance.

She’d laughed good naturedly whenever Steve did something mildly embarrassing and assured him that it was cute. She held his hand when they weren’t dancing and blushed whenever Steve got her a drink without being asked. She smiled at Bucky but it wasn’t ridiculously dazed the way girls normally looked when they were staring at Bucky. She’d even kissed his cheek when he dropped her off at the house and was smiling her whole way inside.

You know, after she’d somehow coerced him into going to the movies with her the following weekend.

Steve was officially having a meltdown. Bucky would be home from work any minute now and he was desperate for the distraction. Jamie was sucked up in homework but Steve had already finished. He couldn’t think clearly enough to sketch anything and he couldn’t even catch up on the sleep he’d been deprived of at last night’s dance because his mind was moving too fast. So, his only option had been to face plant the couch while Jamie worked on the floor and hope he’d smother himself to death.

“You’re so dramatic,” Jamie murmured in exasperation, mostly swept up in the world of the book his teacher had assigned him. Steve grunted by way of response, too tired and anxious to respond properly. He remained with his face smashed part-way into the pillow for what felt like hours but was probably only thirty minutes. The sound of the key fiddling in the lock had him eagerly rolling over to await Bucky’s return into the apartment. He would have flipped over the back of the couch and jerked the door open for him, but that seemed too eager and Bucky didn’t need his ego inflated.

He decided to pretend to be asleep so that Bucky wouldn’t lecture him about keeping rested, a hand tossed over his forehead and eyes closed as he evened out his breathing. Apparently, Bucky wasn’t actually all that concerned with the amount of rest Steve was getting. The apartment door smacked closed and Steve listened intently to the sound of Bucky’s feet approaching the coach. The only warning Steve received after that was a loud groan, and then Bucky was collapsing on top of him.

His face was smashed into the crook of Steve’s neck and his long legs were hanging over the arm of the couch at his shins. One arm was tucked awkwardly between the couch and Steve and his other arm hung listlessly off the side of the couch. Steve squeaked in surprise and flailed uselessly for a moment before regaining full control over his own limbs.

“Bucky!” he sputtered, scowling at the mess of chocolate brown hair. “What the hell?”

“No words. Too tired. Just sleep,” Bucky grunted, snuffling closer to Steve’s neck and getting himself comfortable. Steve couldn’t help but to smirk and roll his eyes fondly, reaching up with his hand that wasn’t smashed beneath Bucky to run his fingers through his hair, scritching his nails against his friend’s scalp. Bucky made a pleased rumbling sound in the back of his throat that sounded remarkably like a purr.

“No sleeping yet, Buck. You gotta tell me about your day and you need to eat,” he chided. Bucky grumbled and shook his head, his nose scraping against the side of Steve’s neck and making him shiver.

“Later. Sleep now,” he protested. Steve smirked and stopped the gentle scritching to tug at Bucky’s ear.

“C’mon. How was work?”

“Same as always. Can I sleep now?” Steve snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Sure, if you wanna waste our time like that.” There was such a long moment of silence that Steve thought Bucky might have actually fallen asleep, but after a while he grunted and began to manhandle Steve around until he was pressed up against the back of the couch and Steve’s back was pressed to his chest. Jamie was staring at them with a smirk on his face, like he was wondering if the two of them were aware of how obvious they were. Steve flushed and rolled his eyes, reaching up to grab a pillow and clutch it to his chest.

“You know how my day was, Stevie. I didn’t get to see you before you went home last night. Tell me how the walk home with Molly went.” Steve huffed and pressed his face into the pillow. He did _not_ want to talk about Molly. Bucky was supposed to distract him from that. Bucky huffed back at him and nuzzled into the hair at the back of his head, encouraging him to speak. Steve sighed.

“It was fine. She, uh...well...”

“She _what_ Steve?”

“Sheinvitedmetothemovies,” he slurred together, mashing his face into the pillow again.  

“She invited you to the movies?!” Bucky asked excitedly and Steve rolled his eyes because of course Bucky would have been able to understand what he’d said.

“Yeah...,” he groused.

“What’d you say?”

“I...said okay. I told her I’d go...”

“You don’t sound like you actually want to go...”

“I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“He likes someone else,” Jamie piped up, smirking broadly in the way Steve just _knew_ he’d picked up from hanging out with Bucky too much. The smirk was so obvious that Bucky didn’t even have to ask what he was implying. He blushed bright red and tightened his arm around Steve, dragging him closer as though that would help defuse the situation. It only made Jamie smirk more.

Steve was going to kill him one day. He had about thirty different ways lined up in his head to do it so far. He added stabbing him in the throat with a pencil to the ever growing list.

“Jamie,” he growled out instead of lunging for the pencil on the floor next to him. “Aren’t you supposed to be back home before dinner?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. Jamie’s smirk collapsed and he paled worryingly fast, rushing to stuff his things into his bag.

“I’ll have you know,” he began as he was shoving his folder into his bookbag, “that I’m not stupid. I know you're only reminding me ‘cause you wanna get rid of me. I can take a hint. Also, my day was great, Buck, thanks for asking. I’ll see you on Monday, lovebirds.” By the time he was finished speaking, the door was closing behind him. There was a long stretch of awkward silence and then Bucky cleared his throat loudly.

“Anyway...why did you tell Molly you’d go if you didn’t want to?” Bucky asked, shifting Steve’s struggling inward. He sighed and rubbed his nose against his pillow, thinking through his response.

“She just...she looked so hopeful. I’m not really familiar with saying no to people, especially since I spend so much time with _you_. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.” Bucky sighed and nuzzled his own nose into Steve’s hair in a copy of the move Steve had made.

“Steve, you can’t string her along like that. It’s cruel.” Steve’s arms tightened around the pillow and he nodded.

“Yeah, I know. I feel awful about it. I’ll tell her after the movie that we should just be friends. I’m too young to be dating anyway.” Bucky snorted a laugh at that and rolled his eyes.

“Yes, fourteen is just _years_ too young to be dating. You’re practically still an infant.” Steve pinched Bucky’s arm and hid his smile in the pillow even though Bucky couldn’t see it anyway.

“Why am I even friends with you?” he grumbled, shoving Bucky’s arm off of him and making to stand so he could get Bucky some food. Bucky made a disapproving noise (which sounded a lot like a whine) and grabbed the back of Steve’s shirt to tug him back towards the couch.

“Food later, Steve. I meant it when I said I needed sleep more.”

“That’s not what you said _at all_.”

“Sure it is. It’s called reading between the lines. Now come back here.”

“Why do I have to lay down with you for you to sleep?”

“Cuz you’re warm.”

“That’s-”

“Just _lay down_ , Steve. Please.” Steve sighed - though the effect was ruined by his smile - and laid back down, only this time he made sure he was facing Bucky when he did. Bucky smiled triumphantly, if not a little sleepily, and burrowed his face into Steve’s neck. Steve smiled fondly and began scritching at Bucky’s scalp again. Bucky made that purring noise in response and pressed into the touch, draping an arm over Steve and tangling their legs together.

They both fell asleep within minutes of each other.

Sarah shuffled out of her room to the sight and spent the rest of her night worrying.

***

The following Sunday, Steve was having a... _rough_ day.

In the morning, he woke up still tangled up in Bucky, though somehow they’d moved around during the night so that he was sprawled out on top of Bucky, using his chest as a pillow and his body nestled between Bucky’s legs. He’d woken up to sunlight spilling across Bucky’s face, bringing out the hidden gold in Bucky’s usually dark hair. He’d had one hand resting at the small of Steve’s back and his other hand was curled in his own hair, head turned to the side so that all Steve could see was his profile.

He’d sat there, watching Bucky sleep and debating whether or not he should risk waking his friend to go and get his sketchbook. He spent so long arguing with himself in his head that he missed his opportunity, Bucky’s eyes blinking open like he wasn’t convinced he should be awake. He’d smiled lazily in Steve’s direction and reached up to smooth his fingers through Steve’s hair, the thumb at Steve’s back beginning to rub in soothing circles.

“Mornin’, punk,” he’d grumbled. He was being too adorable for Steve to do anything except beam back, ducking his head to hide it in Bucky’s chest. He felt like his heart was going to implode straight out of his chest, which was just ridiculous. Why couldn’t he feel this way about a girl, like a normal person?

“Good morning, jerk,” he’d said instead and kissed his friend’s cheek without even thinking before clambering off of him and heading for the kitchen. He was halfway through cooking breakfast and listening to Bucky prattle on about some Sci-Fi themed dream he’d had before he’d realized exactly what he’d done.

Things didn’t get any better at Frank’s.

During the evenings, Frank’s rink served as a place where people could practice and learn how to box. But, at night, the rink’s real purpose came to life. The night’s scheduled boxers came in to spar off and spectators swarmed the area, betting on their favorite boxers for a chance at a few extra bills in their pockets. Frank was the ref while his cousin worked the bar. By the time the match was over, the rink was a mess and it was too late for either of the cousins to even think about cleaning up, which was why the rink didn’t open until later in the afternoon; mornings were dedicated to cleaning the rink up for the next bout of customers.

Bucky and Steve were the only civilians allowed in the rink before opening, and that was only because Bucky’s dad had been best friends with Frank, and Steve helped to clean up. He was usually so busy with it that he didn’t really have the chance to watch Bucky practice, only shooting him furtive glances whenever Frank barked a correction or order at him.

On this particular day, however, Frank had been unable to sleep the night before and had come in early. By the time Steve and Bucky had arrived, the vast majority of the cleaning had already been done. At first Steve had been excited by the prospect. This meant he’d finally get to really watch Bucky practice. Which was considerably easier to watch than an actual fight since the punching bag didn’t have the ability to hit him back.

What Steve did not anticipate was how… _attractive_ Bucky looked while he was practicing. He hadn’t expected it to be any different than watching him beat the shit out of some thug. He was so, _so_ wrong.

Firstly, he wasn’t actively afraid for Bucky’s wellbeing which made it a lot easier to focus on his actions and what he looked like. Secondly, Bucky practiced _shirtless_. As in, without a shirt on. Usually, Steve was still cleaning when Bucky wrapped up and disappeared into the locker room to change into his actual clothes, so Steve only really got quick glances of all his tanned, exposed glory. But now… now he could stare and he had an excuse and really this wasn’t at all good for his health.

Bucky was covered in sweat which should have been gross but somehow just made him look like a fucking _god_ and Steve’s life was _ridiculous_. Steve sat in a chair at one of the tables surrounding the rink, watching Bucky wail on the two pads Frank was holding up for him. His legs were folded and he had his sketch book open in his lap, only glancing away from Bucky for long enough to sketch the lines of him into the page.

Bucky’s face, as usual, was the last to be sketched in, just because those details were the most important. When he’d glanced back up to study Bucky’s face so he could draw it, every inch of him went still and his brow creased with a frown. There was rage on Bucky’s face, raw and exposed and murderous. If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d be _afraid_ of him. Of course, he did know better, so it was only confusing. Or maybe a better word would be interesting. He wanted to know what made Bucky so angry, wanted to pry him open and peer inside him and _understand_ the rage that had always eluded him.

And then he was completely side-tracked when Bucky took a break for water. Which he took two solid gulps of and then promptly dumped over the top of his head. Steve must have made some type of noise, because Bucky glanced over at him and grinned, flashing a wink at his friend before disappearing into the locker room to change. Steve groaned and dropped his pencil onto the sketchbook, propping his elbows up on his knees and dropping his head into his hands.

“I hate my life,” he announced and Frank just chuckled, ruffling Steve’s hair before ducking behind the bar to clean up back there, the only place Steve wasn’t allowed yet.

“Ready to go?” Bucky asked as he reemerged from the locker room, hair somehow perfect again. Steve lifted his head and offered up a weak smile, flipping his sketchbook closed and tucking his pencil behind his ear.

“Yeah. You?”

“You bet your sweet ass,” Bucky teased, ruffling Steve’s hair and cackling as he dodged Steve’s swat and sprinted for the door. “See ya later, Frankie!” he called over his shoulder and Frank merely grunted in response, still wiping the counter down. Steve sighed and shook his head, standing and straightening out his hair.

“See ya next week,” he said, smiling at Frank who beamed back.

“See ya then, Steve. You keep that boy in line.”

“I’ll do what I can,” he said with a helpless shrug. The door of the rink closed on Frank’s laughter. Outside, Bucky was waiting for Steve, leaned up against the wall and grinning like a fool. Steve rolled his eyes at Bucky and stalked past him. Bucky chuckled and pushed off of the wall, jogging a few steps to catch up with Steve and then looping an arm over his shoulders.

“To the park?”

“No, I’m walking this way so I can get hit by a car,” Steve deadpanned and Bucky laughed, shoving him away good naturedly and then stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Punk,” Bucky said with a shit eating grin. Steve stared back at him levelly, unamused.

“Jerk,” he drawled back just because he’d never been able to resist.

When they arrived at their pond, Steve immediately plopped down onto the bench and tucked into his sketch so he could finish Bucky’s expression from memory. It wasn’t turning out near as good as he wanted, but Mr. Kent and his school’s art teacher, Mrs. Mulberry, kept telling him his skill would improve with practice. He just wished it would start improving _faster_.

“So,” Bucky prompted after a while of silence, looking up from his own sketch to study his friend. “Your date with Molly is when?”

“Friday,” Steve answered curtly. “After school.”

“What movie are you gonna see?”

“Dunno. Told her she could pick.”

“D’you think you’ll kiss her?” Steve startled so badly he drew a useless line through Bucky’s hair, wrecking the whole picture. He spluttered and glanced up at Bucky with wide eyes.

“ _What_? Bucky, I… _no_!” he hissed vehemently.

“Well, why not?”

“Because! I don’t even know if I’m gonna go on another date with her!”

“It ain’t that hard,” Bucky said, expression too resigned as he leaned back against of the bench. Steve felt the ground shift beneath him and his stomach dropped.

“Have you… you’ve kissed someone before?” Bucky had been on about five dates so far, but he never went with the same girl twice.

“Yup. Wasn’t a big deal.”

“Obviously,” Steve deadpanned.

“It was nice though. Both times. Kissing is fun.” Steve felt his cheeks go warm and turned back to his sketchbook.

“Uhuh,” he hummed in acknowledgement, absolutely done with this conversation.

“Seriously, Steve. You should do it just for fun. Even if you don’t wanna go on another date with her.”

“I… I wouldn’t know what to do. I don’t know how to kiss, Buck. Not even in theory…” he grumbled, frowning down at his sketchbook. And then, suddenly, Bucky was just… there. He crawled forward and ducked his head until Steve looked up, eyes wide at how close they were. He blinked owlishly at his friend, staring resolutely at his jewel blue eyes instead of at his _lips_.

Bucky had the telltale smile on, all mischief and excitement and curiosity. Steve knew exactly which words were coming next. He’d learned what that smile meant by now.

“I’ll show you,” he murmured softly, all confidence. Steve made a strangled, choking noise and glanced around them in panic.

“Bucky, _no_ ,” he hissed. “Someone will see us!” Bucky chuckled and the sound shot right through Steve. He met Bucky’s eyes again which was probably… the worst idea he’d ever had. They were half closed and all seductive and obviously Steve was aware of how attractive Bucky was but it was impossible to think about anything else with his face so close to Steve’s.

“We’re surrounded by trees, Stevie. And no one comes in here anyway. No one will see. Besides, it’s not like we’re doin’ anything wrong. I’m just showing you how to kiss for your date tonight.”

Objectively, Steve knew that his first kiss was kind of a big deal. He shouldn’t just throw it away on a boy that it wouldn’t mean anything to. But, then again, this was the boy he was in love with. The boy he trusted with his life. Steve also knew he was kind of deceiving Bucky though. He had no intentions of kissing Molly. Steve only ever wanted to kiss Bucky. And that thought forced him to face the fact that he would be completely ruined for anyone else the moment Bucky’s lips touched his. If he kept himself oblivious to what it would feel like to have what he’d been longing for his whole life, then he might be able to meet some nice girl and love her and kiss her and move on. But that would be totally wrecked if he let himself have this.

Steve nodded his okay, anyway, eyes wide. Bucky’s grin spread wider and he shifted around to sit in front of Steve properly, legs hanging off the bench at an angle. He gently took Steve’s sketchbook and pencil, setting them down behind him to keep them out of the way. Steve felt his breath hitch and Bucky paused to lift a hand, pressing it to Steve’s cheek and brushing his thumb along Steve’s lower lip.

“It’s okay, Steve. Relax. I got you,” he purred, his voice pouring over Steve like warm honey. Steve immediately melted against him, though his breath was still a little shuddery. Bucky scooted a little closer and slid his hand around to cup the back of Steve’s neck. He leaned in real close, their lips barely inches apart, and he whispered, “trust me,” before tilting forward through the rest of the space and touching his lips to Steve’s.

Steve let out a tiny, sweet little sigh and let his eyes flutter closed, leaning into it. Bucky smiled into the kiss, pleased with his reaction, and tilted his head just so, lining their lips together perfectly. At first, it was slow and smooth, closed and careful. Steve thought Bucky was just showing him how to do it right but really Bucky was taking his time with him, letting himself enjoy it since he was pretty sure this was the only time he’d get to have it.

Finally, Bucky couldn’t take it anymore and parted his lips, running the tip of his tongue along Steve’s lower lip. Steve gasped just like Bucky thought he would and he took his chance, licking his way inside Steve’s mouth. Steve went a little tense at that, like he wasn’t sure how to respond. Bucky lifted his free hand so that he could hold Steve’s face in both hands, smoothing his thumbs back and forth across his skin to keep him calm. Steve relaxed again and tentatively copied Bucky’s actions.

Bucky groaned in response and the sound flew all over Steve. It was like that one sound had ignited a fire in his stomach and he was suddenly pushing back, tilting his head and letting instinct take over as he took control of the kiss. Bucky was surprised but not at all unwilling, relaxing back and letting Steve have his way. Steve seemed to sense this and the fire took over completely, consuming everything in his head except, _Bucky_. Bucky’s hands slid down to Steve’s hip and Steve lifted his own hands, grabbing Bucky’s face and maintaining the kiss as he shifted until he could straddle Bucky’s lap. Bucky moaned again and leaned back against the bench, making the conscious effort to keep his hands firmly on Steve’s hips. Otherwise they would roam and there was no way for him to justify that.

For a few blissful moments, there was nothing in either of their heads but Steve’s hands in Bucky’s hair and Bucky’s thumb rubbing against the skin on Steve’s hips that it had somehow found. Neither of them knew where one began and the other ended, all consumed in the fire of _yes, finally, never stop_. If they hadn’t had to worry about what others would do to or say about the one they loved, they probably would have sat there all day, lost in each other’s lips.

As it was, they _did_ have to worry about the rest of the world, and somewhere in the dark recesses of Steve’s mind, he remembered that. He remembered that being in love with Bucky, acting on his feelings for Bucky, could get him hurt. He remembered that they might would kill Bucky if someone saw them doing this, or send him to a correctional facility. Steve couldn’t let that happen. As much as it was Bucky’s job to protect him, it was Steve’s job to protect Bucky too. Even if it was from Steve himself.

Gasping and with more reluctance than Steve would ever admit to, he pulled away, panting for breath and pressing his forehead to his friend’s. The two of them kept their foreheads touching for several minutes, catching their breath and reorienting themselves back into the world. Finally, once Steve was sure he wasn’t going to have an asthma attack, he pulled back completely and blinked his eyes open. Bucky was already staring up at him, his expression filled with awe.

“Like....like that?” Steve asked breathlessly because, right, there’d been a _point_ to this. Bucky blinked in confusion for a moment and then laughed, still breathless himself. He leaned forward, tucking his face into the crook of Steve’s neck and winding his arms around Steve’s waist. He spent a few seconds breathing him in and then nodded against him.

“Yeah, like that. You kiss Molly like that and you’ll have a hard time gettin’ rid of her.” Steve smiled and stroked his fingers through Bucky’s hair, leaning his cheek against his temple.

“Maybe I shouldn’t kiss her then...,” he noted, his tone teasing despite the fact that he was actually serious. Bucky frowned and tightened his arms around Steve, pressing closer.

“Yeah...maybe not...,” he muttered. Steve sighed and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s shoulder, closing his eyes.

He was so fucked.

***

Molly wanted to see _One Night of Love_ and Steve was grateful. He’d been wanting to see that movie and since they only got to see movies once every three months and since Bucky would probably outright refuse, Steve’d assumed he’d never get to see it.

However, Steve was so engrossed in the movie that he didn’t even see Molly’s hand resting, open, on the armrest between them. Of course, Bucky had told him this was a clear sign that someone wanted to hold his hand, but Steve was too busy wondering if Mary and Giulio would finally admit their feelings for each other to notice. In fact, he didn’t notice until Molly made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat and crossed her arms with a jerky, angry movement. Steve glanced over at her sheepishly, realizing his mistake, and tried to make up for it by offering her some of his candy. She sighed and reluctantly took the candy, shrugging at Steve’s questioning look and turning back to the screen.

“You don’t seem that into this, Steve,” Molly commented as they were walking from the theatre. Steve sighed and stuffed his hands into his pockets, shrugging and sending her an apologetic smile.

“I guess not. I’m sorry, Molly.” Molly just smiled back at him and tucked a strand of strawberry blonde hair back into place.

“It’s all right. We can just be friends.”

“I’d like that...being friends.” Molly’s smile brightened and she hooked her arm through his, leaning into him as they began to make their way home.

“So, friend, what did you think of the movie?” she asked brightly. Steve smiled back and leaned his cheek against the top of her head, pleased he could do so.

“I liked it. I thought Moore and Carminati had a lot of chemistry. It made their onscreen relationship really believable.” Molly leaned back to blink up at him in confusion.

“Who and who’s chemistry?” Steve laughed softly. That face and tone of voice reminded him a lot of Bucky.

“Grace Moore and Tullio Carminati, the actress and actor who played the leading roles.” Molly continued to blink at him for a moment and then smiled and leaned her temple against his shoulder again.

“You seem to know a lot about the pictures, Steve.” Steve shrugged a little at that and smiled.

“I kinda wanna be an actor. Well...I would if I weren’t so pathetic lookin’. I wouldn’t get any parts like this, but I used to think about it a lot when I was little.”

“I always pegged Bucky for the actor type outta the two of you.” Steve snorted.

“Nah, he can’t lie for sh-crap. He wants to be a singer, I think.”

“He any good?”

“Oh, yeah! I wish he weren’t so shy about it. I’d love it if he’d show off that voice of his at the talent show. He’d blow every other punk on that stage out of the water.”

“Hey! I plan on being one of those punks!” Molly protested, pulling back to smack his arm, though she was grinning while she did it. Steve laughed and ducked out of her reach. Before Steve could respond, he heard a low, impressed whistle.

“Hel- _lo_ , gorgeous,” a slightly slurred voice called and Molly drew to a stop on instinct. Steve groaned internally. Stopping was the first step to getting your face beat in. He’d know. Nevertheless, Steve turned to scowl at the boy who’d spoken. He looked exactly like Steve pictured himself looking if he’d grow like a regular person; a shock of golden blonde hair instead of Steve’s straw blonde, his eyes twinkling like chips of ice in the streetlight, his broad shoulder, strong jawline, solid build, and well, he was _handsome_. Also, probably drunk.

“What’re you doin’ with a skinny prick like that?” he asked, eyes raking up and down Molly’s body. She shivered and pressed closer to Steve which Steve thought was vaguely ridiculous because he wasn’t sure he could protect her. He sure would try his damndest though. Locking his jaw, Steve stepped forward to put himself between Molly and the older man, drawing his gaze.

“Leave her alone,” Steve snapped. The man snorted and shoved Steve’s head aside, making him stumble against the wall. Molly squeaked and tried to scramble away from him, but he grabbed her wrist and stepped into her space, grinning like a villainous cat.

“You should come home with me, darlin’. I’ll show you a real good time, better’n this _fairy_ ever could.” Molly struggled feebly, glowering and trying to pull her wrist free. Steve froze for a moment, eyes widening and heart pounding in his ears. The only thought he had was; _he knows, he knows, somehow he knows and he’s going to kill me and Bucky, oh god what have I done what have I done._ He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, he could barely even think. The sound of his breathing made him worry distantly about an asthma attack. Maybe that would be best. Maybe this guy wouldn’t kill an already dying man.

“Let _go_ of me, you pig,” Molly spat, snapping Steve from his daze. The man just laughed and pressed closer, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling deeply. Something angry and dark swelled up inside of Steve and he shoved off the wall, glaring with everything he had in him.

“I _said_ , leave her alone,” he growled and kicked the older boy straight between the legs as hard as he could. He made some sort of wheezing noise and doubled forward, releasing Molly to cover his crotch. Molly stumbled away from him, breathing hard and staring with wide eyes. The man clutched the wall in an attempt to remain upright and Steve took a deep breath, reaching for Molly’s hand to drag her away from the scene. He’d barely made it two steps when the man suddenly grabbed Steve’s wrist, turning baleful eyes on Steve as he slowly straightened. With his free hand, he turned and grabbed Steve, spinning him and slamming his back hard against the wall.

“Molly, _run_!” Steve shouted, feeling his heart careening out of control in his panic once again. “Go get Bucky! He’s at my house!” Molly hesitated only a moment and then turned and went sprinting in the direction of home. Steve just had to pray that her best friend Clara had told her where they lived or something, because that was the only way Steve could figure Molly would know where to go. He was suddenly glad instead of resentful that Bucky had invited Clara over to eat dinner with them a few nights ago. You know, unless she hadn’t actually told Molly where they lived. Then he would remain resentful.

Steve didn’t get another chance to speak. The boy slammed his fist into Steve’s face, making his head snap back against the wall. He then balled Steve’s shirt up in his fists and dragged him into the alley, chucking him inside it and stalking after him. Steve knew enough to scramble to his feet, brushing his now scraped up hands on his jeans and backing away a bit before planting his feet. He was already starting to breathe heavily, but he ignored it, raising his fists the way he’d seen Bucky do a thousand times. The creep only chuckled in response, waiting until Steve lashed out impatiently in an attempt to punch him. He caught Steve’s wrist easily and jerked, twisting until there was a sickening snapping noise.

Pain exploded all the way up Steve’s arm into his brain and he screamed, seeing stars twinkling across his vision. The man released him and Steve staggered back, tears leaking from his eyes as he held his wrist close to his chest. He didn’t stop after that, advancing on Steve and punching him hard in the jaw again. Steve hit the ground hard, crying out as it jarred his most definitely broken arm, and immediately curled into a ball when the kicks began to rain down on him.

Steve must have had an asthma attack at some point during the whole ordeal, but he didn’t notice until he started to pass out. He was thankful when the darkness consumed him completely.

***

Bucky was sitting on the couch, reading some Sci-Fi novel while he waited for Steve to return, when he heard frantic pounding at the front door. He frowned and glanced up. Sarah had left for her shift at the hospital ages ago and if Steve had forgotten his key again, then he knew the spare was under the brick by the door and no one else ever came to the Rogers’ apartment. Bucky sighed and tucked his bookmark into the book, setting it aside and rising fluidly. When he opened the door, he was prepared for anything.

Except Molly Saunderssobbing and breathing like she’d sprinted the whole way from the cinema.

Despite his surprise, Bucky turned back and grabbed his shoes.

“What happened?” he asked, surprised yet again by how calm and level his voice sounded. He was already on his way into a panic attack in his head.

“Th-there was this cr-creep hittin’ on me an-and he wouldn’t leave me alone. So S-Steve kicked him and t-told me to come get you,” she hiccuped through her tears and gasping breaths. Bucky forwent his jacket and slammed the apartment door closed behind him, grabbing Molly by the elbow and hurrying her down the stairs.

“Show me,” Bucky ordered and the two of them went sprinting in the direction of the cinema.

“He’s such a...a big guy, Bucky,” Molly panted, eyes wild with fear. “And Steve looked so afraid.” Bucky flinched and scowled, choosing not to respond to that for the sake of his own sanity. He couldn’t move fast enough. Something in his gut was telling him that something really bad had happened, worse than usual. Usually, Steve got into fights with people his own age or who weren’t that much older than him. But the way Molly was talking, it had been a _man,_ not a boy.

Molly grabbed his elbow before Bucky could plow right past the alleyway where she’d apparently last seen Steve. Bucky pivoted on his heels and jogged into the alley, barely losing speed as he did so.

“Oh my god,” Molly gasped, lurching to a stop and covering her mouth with both hands as tears leaped to her eyes once more. Bucky didn’t have the luxury of hesitation. He dropped down to his knees hard beside the crumpled heap of Steve’s body. Instantly, he knew his assumptions about it being worse this time were confirmed. Steve’s face was a bloody, swollen mess and he was curled into a tight ball, breathing sporadic and limbs limp.

“Steve?” Bucky whimpered, praying to any god that was listening that he’d respond. There was nothing, not even a groan or a hitch in his breathing. Bucky cursed and blinked rapidly against the sudden tears in his eyes. Gently, he rolled Steve onto his back and began to assess his body. No moving him until he’d taken full stock of his injuries.

One eye was already swelling shut and the other was bruised badly, his nose tilted at an awkward angle. His lip was busted as well and twice its normal size, blue like they sometimes were during an asthma attack. His arm was tucked close to his chest so Bucky ran his fingers over it lightly, feeling the bone’s awkward angle and cursing again, flinching in sympathy. He slowly and carefully untucked Steve’s shirt and then slipped his fingers beneath it, ghosting his fingers across Steve’s ribs. Some of them were cracked, if not completely broken and when he hiked the shirt up all the way, it was a mess of nasty bruises. He gently pulled the shirt back down and reached up, lifting Steve’s head carefully to feel at his skull. It didn’t feel too damaged there, which was a relief. There was a little bump like he’d hit his head, and Bucky thought he’d remembered Sarah saying something about head injuries being deceitful or something.

Bucky took a shaky breath and scrubbed a hand over his eyes, ignoring the way it trembled.

“Bucky?” Molly called softly and he flinched, curving around Steve protectively before he realized what he was doing. “What do we do?” She sounded terrified, so Bucky tried his best to keep it together.

“I...I don’t know. It’s never been this bad before. He needs a doctor - a _hospital_ \- badly. But I don’t know if it’s safe to move him like this...”

“Isn’t his mom a nurse?” Bucky nodded, reaching up to softly brush a lock of golden blonde hair off Steve’s forehead.

“Yeah, she works the night shift, though, so she’s probably there now.”  

“Should I...should I go get the cops?” Bucky turned a dark glower on her.

“Did Steve hit him first?” he snapped. Molly flushed and glanced at Steve, eyes wide and panicked.

“Yes...”

“Then, no. I’ll...I’ll have to chance it. Can you run ahead and warn them that we’re coming and that it’s an emergency?” Molly nodded and then turned and hurried out of the alley. Once she was gone, Bucky let the tears he’d been holding back slide down his cheeks, turning back to Steve and bending forward until he could bump their foreheads ever so gently together. They were barely even touching.

“Stupid punk,” he choked out, swallowing his sobs and leaning back to get himself situated. He slid an arm beneath Steve’s legs and the other behind his neck, lifting him slowly into his lap. He maneuvered Steve around so that his head was supported on Bucky’s shoulder, made sure his arm wasn’t crushed between them, and then slid his arm down to Steve’s upper back to give him more support. He leaned his shoulder against the wall and used its support to get to his feet without dropping or jostling Steve too much.

Steve was dead weight in his arms which made him all the more heavier, but he’d never weighed too much so it was easy enough for Bucky to carry him. He kept his cheek to Steve’s forehead, feeling his ragged breathing against his neck to monitor it. He didn’t know exactly what he expected to be able to do if Steve had an asthma attack while he was unconscious (could that even happen?), but it made him feel better all the same. He found himself wishing Jamie were here, for no particular reason other than to feel less alone in his panic.

Right before he arrived at the hospital, when he was certain the streets were perfectly empty, he pressed a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth, swallowing around the hitch in his breathing and then marching across the street to the hospital.

Somehow, he was able to get the door open with his foot and slip inside where Sarah, Molly, and a whole fleet of doctors were waiting. One of the doctors reached for Steve and Bucky flinched away, scowling for a moment until he realized what he was doing. What the hell was wrong with him? He took a deep breath and glanced at Steve’s pained, unconscious face one last time before holding him out to the doctor who accepted him without a word and dropped him onto a gurney.

It didn’t even register on Bucky’s radar that he might not be allowed to go with him, so he was only three steps behind them when Sarah snagged his arm, drawing him to a stop. Bucky frowned at her in confusion.

“I gotta go with Stevie,” he told her, trying to stress how much he did not have time for this. Sarah shook her head, her eyes filled with anxiety.

“You can’t, Buck. You have to wait out here.” Bucky glared and wrenched his arm back.

“He needs me,” Bucky growled. Sarah sighed, suddenly looking very tired.

“I know, Bucky, but those are the rules. I can’t change them. Just sit down, okay, hun? He’s in good hands; it shouldn’t take long as long as there’s nothing too wrong.” The two of them maintained eye contact for a long moment before Bucky sighed and nodded, kissing her cheek. Sarah turned and rushed down the hall after her son. Bucky turned and offered a thin smile at Molly, sinking down into the chair next to her.

“Will he be all right?”

Bucky didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“People are always underestimating that kid. He’ll leave when he’s good and ready; not before and not after. He’s stubborn as hell and you’ll find that he almost always gets his way.” Molly studied his face for a moment and then nodded, slumping back against her chair and staring dejectedly at the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, thanks for reading guys! I hope you liked it! If you did, let me know through kudos and comments! I even like critiques because I wanna do this professionally and anything that can help me improve as a writer is always more than welcome! Thanks again! I love you and hope you're having a lovely morning/day/afternoon/evening/night wherever you are!


	7. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky finds out who beat up Steve and the two of them accidentally-on-purpose come out to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I don't have any good excuse about why I didn't update yesterday. I just completely forgot. Sorry, guys! At least it's not like two or three days late this time? Anyway, hope you enjoy!
> 
> WARNINGS: Somewhat graphic depictions of violence (the fight is surprisingly not Steve's fault this time), homophobic slurs, brief sexuality crisis on both fronts. Let me know if I missed anything! Thanks!

It turned out that Steve actually _was_ going to be okay.

His nose, arm, and three of his ribs were all broken, but the rest of him was just bloody and bruised and sore. The head wound was only a concussion which Steve would be able to recover from easily enough. However, because of Steve’s crappy immune system and history of medical issues, they’d insisted on keeping Steve at the hospital for a week to monitor him. Sarah and Bucky both had no choice but to work because of the medical bills, but nobody made Bucky go to school so he was able to spend those hours with Steve. It was fortunate too because Bucky would have slugged someone before he let them take him from Steve.

As soon as Bucky’s shift was over each day, he went straight to the hospital to spend the night. None of the nurses or doctors said anything, but Steve did. He complained a lot. And loudly. Not only was Bucky spending his nights there, but his mother was spending her days sleeping on a cot that one of her friend’s had brought for the both of them. Steve thought they were both being ridiculous. He said he didn’t need a babysitter and that the two of them would be better off in proper beds. And Bucky couldn’t afford to miss any school; he needed to maintain his grades.

Sarah and Bucky were both very skilled in the art of ignoring Steve, so it didn’t bother them. Jamie visited too, but only after school and only when visiting hours were actually _open_ , so he never had to deal with Steve’s nagging.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this to me,” Steve huffed one evening, scowling at Bucky who was in the process of doing the worksheet Molly had brought in for him from the math class they shared. Or he was trying to, but it was hard when you’d missed the lesson and had no idea what you were doing. Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve.

“I’m not _doing_ anything to you. I’m just visiting my best friend in the hospital.”

“No, you’re camping out.”

“Same difference.”

“You’d feel better if you slept in an actual bed, you know.”

“I’ll sleep in an actual bed just as soon as we head home.”

“You can’t head home without me?”

“Nope.”

“Aw, c’mon, Buck. Just one night.”

“Steve, give it a rest. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“We’ve established that. Maybe now that you’ve seen just _how_ ridiculous I can be, you’ll stop getting into useless fights.”

“It wasn’t useless. They’re never useless,” Steve shot back, turning red with his annoyance. Bucky finally glanced up from his paper and studied his friend a moment. He sighed and set his work aside, sitting on the edge of Steve’s bed and reaching for his hand. All of Steve’s anger deflated immediately and he relaxed into his bed, smiling tiredly at Bucky as his thumb began to sweep soothingly back and forth against his skin.

“We have this argument every time you get out of a fight, Steve, and I don’t want to have it now, okay? I thought...for a split second, I thought you were _dead_. I just want you to understand how much I never want to feel like that again.” Steve winced and squeezed Bucky’s hand tightly.

“I know, Buck...I know. I’m sorry. You know I can’t promise it won’t happen again but I...I promise to try. I promise to try and be more careful.” Bucky smiled thinly and shifted around until he could pillow his head on Steve’s thigh, still holding Steve’s hand with his legs propped up in the chair.

“I guess that’s all I can really ask of you.”

The two of them fell asleep like that and Sarah elected not to think or feel anything about it when she woke up to use the bathroom.

No one was more relieved than Steve when he was finally released from the hospital. Sarah and Bucky were still fretting over him almost obsessively but it was better than having a bunch of doctors jumping down his throat at the same time. Although, at the house he had more of an opportunity to overhear conversations between his mother and Bucky when they thought he was asleep in his room. They talked a lot about Bucky taking on additional shifts at the factory and Sarah barely put up much of an argument.

Steve felt like crap. He’d basically ruined everybody’s lives with his stupid move, though Molly assured him that he’d saved her life when she came for her weekly Saturday visits. That made him feel a bit better, but he couldn’t help but to notice Bucky’s exhaustion and so he couldn’t completely shake his guilt. When he was better, he would ask Frank for an official job cleaning the rink for him on Sundays, to help what little he could since Bucky refused to let him get a job at the factory.

About a month and a half later, Steve felt pretty confident in his ability to work, but Bucky was still insisting that he wait another week because he was ridiculous. Even though Steve was completely capable of walking without pain, Bucky wasn’t letting him go anywhere except school and home. He was going a little stir crazy if he was being honest with himself and had plowed his way through seven different books.

He was in the middle of his eighth book when Bucky came home from his shift at the factory in a whirlwind of distracted rage.

“Buck?” Steve asked, frowning as he watched Bucky come barreling into the apartment, slamming the door behind him and beginning to pace back and forth behind the couch.

“I know who put you in the hospital,” Bucky said, as though that explained why he was acting like a crazy person. Steve stood, hiding his slight wince, and walked over to lay a hand against Bucky’s chest. He immediately ground to a halt, blinking down at Steve with a half-crazed glint to his eyes.

“Why are you all worked up about this?” Steve asked, searching his face as though the answer might be written there somewhere. Bucky let out a grunt like he was in pain and leaned forward, bumping his forehead softly against Steve’s. The fists at his sides were trembling.

“I know he’s goin’ to be outside the drugstore like he always is on Fridays. I...I want to hurt him, Steve. I wanna hurt him so bad,” he whispered, sounding afraid. Steve sighed and, for once, let himself act on instinct, his hand lifting to curl in the short hair at the base of Bucky’s skull.

“You can’t, Buck,” he whispered back softly. “It’s not worth it, anyway.” Steve winced as soon as he said it. He knew it was exactly the wrong thing to say.

Bucky jerked back hard and stared at Steve incredulously, eyes wide and definitely crazed now.

“Not _worth it_?! Steve, what the fuck’re you talkin’ about?!” Steve flushed and looked down, stuffing his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels as he avoided eye contact. He knew he was being obvious and exacerbating the situation but he couldn’t help it. What the guy had said...it had really bothered him. For obvious reasons. He was a horrible person.

“Steve, explain,” Bucky demanded, his tone darkened in the way that told Steve he wasn’t going to let it go until he got answers.

“I...he just....well, he....he called me....he called me a...a _fairy_...you know, like the-”

“I know what it means,” Bucky interrupted and Steve looked up at the sharpness of his tone. He was staring at Steve with a completely blank expression, every inch of him frozen. Steve was fairly certain he wasn’t even breathing. He was kind of afraid that if he pressed his ear against Bucky’s chest, he wouldn’t hear his heartbeat. Steve’s heart, however, was racing in his chest.

“Why does it bother you so much, Steve?” Bucky asked, his voice deadly calm. Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh damn. Steve was going to throw up, then he was going to have a panic attack, then he was going to have an asthma attack, and then maybe the universe would be merciful and let him pass out. Because this was exactly the conversation he did not want to be having.

“You got somethin’ against homosexuals?” Bucky asked and Steve’s brain short circuited because, uh...no?? That was the exact opposite of the problem??

“Uh. What?” he asked eloquently. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be worried about coming out and telling Bucky he liked fellas.

“I asked you if you had somethin’ against homosexuals,” he repeated. He was starting to sound _hurt_. But, wait, no...that couldn’t be right. Why would Bucky be _hurt_ by the fact that Steve had something against homosexuals? Maybe _surprised_ because Steve rarely had anything against anyone except bullies. But the look on Bucky’s face, the way he had thrown up all kinds of walls to block himself from the most amount of pain....That was the face Bucky’d been wearing the night his mother told him Steve might not survive...

“Buck, are you-”

“Answer my question, Steve.” He was avoiding Steve’s question...

 _Holy shit_.

“Oh my god, you _are_!”

“You gonna ask me to leave?” Bucky snapped, glowering and tense. And Steve couldn’t help it, he laughed, a tear he didn’t even realize was welling up dribbling down his cheek. Bucky was so shocked, the glare slipped from his face and he stared wide-eyed at Steve. Steve stepped forward and wrapped Bucky in a hug.

“God, Buck, no! I’m not gonna ask you to leave! Never! I....you got it all wrong. I don’t have anything against homosexuals. God, no. That’s the exact opposite of the problem,” he whispered. Bucky stiffened under his grip and Steve stiffened in response, unsure.

“You...you’re... _Steve_?” he asked, his voice strangled and small.

“Yeah,” Steve murmured. “Yeah, I am.” It felt like the whole world had been lifted off his shoulders, like he was breathing properly for the first time since he’d talked to his mother in the kitchen when he was eight years old.

Bucky did the opposite of anything Steve would have expected in that moment, all things considered. He ripped away from Steve’s grasp and went tearing back out the door; only he left it open this time. So Steve could only assume he was meant to follow. He quickly stuffed his feet into his shoes and grabbed his jacket before following suit. Bucky was waiting at the bottom of the stairs but as soon as he saw Steve coming down, he turned and started marching brusquely down the street. Steve had to scramble to keep up and Bucky only slowed up when he heard Steve panting, probably worried about an asthma attack.

“Buck, where are you going?” Steve demanded even though he was pretty sure he knew the answer to that question. Bucky didn’t even answer though, just kept marching down the sidewalk. The muscles of his jaw kept shifting beneath his skin as he ground his teeth together, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

“Buck…” No answer. “Bucky?” Still no answer. “James,” sharper this time but no response. “James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve finally snapped and Bucky flinched, turning a dark look on his blonde friend.

“Steve, if I beat the shit outta him then he won’t fuckin’ call you that ever again and he won’t spread rumors about you.”

“Bucky, _no_ ,” Steve gasped, grabbing at his sleeve to try and tug him to a stop. Bucky easily shook him off.

“It’s nonnegotiable,” Bucky snapped, not looking at Steve. Steve groaned and rubbed at his forehead.

“He’s like nineteen, Buck...and pretty big. You might not win this one.”

“Oh, I’ll win.”

“What if his friends help? Or get the cops?”

“If he’s got any sort of dignity then he’ll tell his friends to stuff it.”

“And the cops?”

“They’ve never stumbled into an alley while you’ve been gettin’ beat up before.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt on my behalf, Buck. Or, you know, _at all_.”

“So I won’t get hurt.”

“It’s not that simple!”

“Sure it is.”

“You could-”

“Steve, the discussion is over. Shut the fuck up,” he snarled, finally glaring at him. Steve glared back but fell into reluctant silence. He knew a lost cause when he saw one. He cursed himself for opening his big mouth...but then again...no, no he didn’t really regret it. It was such a relief that Bucky not only knew but _understood_. And he was okay with it! He wasn’t disgusted or angry or freaked out. Because he was...he was homosexual too and Steve would be lying if he said he weren’t a little bit excited by the prospect. But no, now was not the time to think about this because Bucky looked positively _murderous_. If not extremely hot.

_Jeez, Rogers, get it together. You need to focus._

As they rounded the corner and the group loitering outside the drugstore came into view, Steve made one last effort to get Bucky to reconsidered, grabbing at his arm. Bucky brushed him off impatiently and his glower darkened.

“Hey!” he shouted, and all four heads turned to face the two of them. “Which one of you is Daniel Birch?” he demanded. Steve glanced nervously at Bucky and then his stomach dropped when he saw the guy who’d put him in the hospital pushing off of the wall and arching an eyebrow at Bucky.

_Oh god, oh god, oh god._

“Who’s askin’?” he said haughtily. Bucky’s nostrils flared and he came to a stop less than a foot away from Daniel. Bucky was a full head shorter than him but he still managed to loom and look all around menacing.

“A very pissed off motherfucker,” Bucky retorted and Daniel snorted a laugh, his friends laughing with him. “Did you or did you not put that kid over there in the hospital a few weeks ago?” Steve didn’t know what kind of game Bucky was playing but he shrunk back under Daniel’s assessing glance.

“I might’ve,” he said with a shrug. Why were bullies always so stupid? Bucky shoved him hard, face twisted up in rage.

“I ain’t messin’ around, asshole,” he practically spat at Daniel whose face reddened with outrage. “Answer the goddamn question.” Daniel’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re like, twelve, kid. Beat it, before you get hurt.” Bucky didn’t look twelve at all. In fact, he was often mistaken for sixteen or seventeen. Daniel was just pushing his buttons. Again, why were bullies always so stupid?

“You can’t hurt me. I could kick your ass into the middle a’ next week, _easy_ ,” Bucky told him and Daniel’s glower deepened.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that…,” Daniel warned. Bucky straightened under the challenge, eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Then how about we settle this?” Bucky asked. Steve wanted to protest again but he found he couldn’t get the words out. Daniel glanced around at his friends and seemed to realize he’d been trapped. If he said no he’d look like a wimp, but he was starting to grasp that he might not win this fight, and that would be equally as mortifying. He glared down at Bucky.

“When and where?”

“That alley right there, right now,” Bucky answered almost before Daniel was done speaking. Daniel blinked in surprise.

“You sure about this, kid? I’m givin’ you one last chance to back out.”

“Oh, I’m sure. I’d extend you the same courtesy, but I actually couldn’t care less about morals right now,” Bucky growled and turned on his heels, stalking into the alley. He went as far back as the alley would let him and was followed closely by Steve, Daniel, and Daniel’s three friends. As they walked after Bucky, Daniel grinned down at Steve and Steve forced himself to glare right on back.

“How’s your...well, everything?” Steve raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“I’m great, thanks. I’ll be sure to ask you the same question in about five minutes. Only polite, right?” he snarked back. Daniel wrinkled his nose distastefully and motioned for his friends to hang back and then approached Bucky, shucking off his jacket.

“All right, how’re we doin’ this?” he asked. Without further delay or the slightest bit of hesitation, Bucky lashed out, punching him hard in the cheek and making Daniel stumble back in surprise.

“Like that,” Bucky growled out, smirking and keeping his fists raised. “Or do you only know how to fight people who’re much smaller than you?” Daniel made an outraged noise and tried to punch Bucky, but he dropped to the ground, sweeping his leg out and knocking Daniel’s feet out from under him before rising fluidly back to his own feet as he watched Daniel tumble to the ground. Daniel flipped back up to his feet, already beginning to breathe hard and blowing hair from his eyes.

“You fight dirty,” he noted. Bucky shook his head.

“I fight angry,” he corrected. Daniel lashed out after that but Bucky sidestepped the punch, slamming his own fist out into Daniel’s throat. He made a choking sound and stumbled back again, clutching at his neck. Bucky waited, wearing that dark, dangerous, beautifully terrifying smirk.

“Fuck you,” Dan spat out hoarsely, as though surprised and insulted by the way Bucky fought.

“Not in your wettest dreams, Bitch-I mean, _Birch_ ,” Bucky sassed right on back. One of Daniel’s friends snickered involuntarily and that seemed to piss Daniel off even more. He growled and swung again, managing to land a punch to Bucky's face, making him stumble back. Bucky touched the corner of his eye gently and looked down to see his finger coated in blood. He looked back up at Daniel.

The successful swing made Daniel overconfident and he lashed out again, but hit Bucky’s forearm when he raised his arms to block. Bucky caught him in the cheek again but didn’t give him the chance to recover. He stepped in and hooked his leg around Daniel’s, jerking hard towards himself. Daniel dropped to the ground and Bucky smirked wider, landing a kick to his side before he could stand that had him curling in on himself with a groan.

Bucky leaped on him, straddling his waist and punching him hard in the face again. His cheek was cut, his lip swollen, and now his nose was bright red, but he’d managed to turn his face away from the blow and raise his arms to block it last minute. Bucky growled in frustration and grabbed his arms, wrenching them down and tucking his hand under his knees, pressing down hard. Daniel struggled, head thrashing and shoulders jerking as he tried to twist out of Bucky’s hold. His legs flailed wildly, but he didn’t seem to know how to use them to dislodge Bucky.

And now that Bucky’s hands were free, he started wailing on Daniel, landing punch after punch square in the middle of his face. There was a sickening cracking noise and Daniel let out a garbled scream and Steve thought Bucky would stop, but he didn’t.

“Bucky! Bucky, stop! You’re gonna kill him! Buck!” he shouted, feeling panic well up inside him. Bucky couldn’t get arrested; Steve wouldn’t survive without him, didn’t want to. But Bucky wasn’t hearing him, he just kept hitting him and more blood just kept on coming. Steve had to do something. Daniel’s three goons were just standing there, watching with dumbfounded expressions, so it had to be Steve. He surged forward, intending to grab his arm. Only, Bucky chose that exact moment to cock his fist back for another blow and caught Steve sharply in the chest with his elbow.

Steve cried out, more in surprise than in actual pain (though it did hurt), and landed hard on his ass, scraping up his palms in the attempt to catch himself. Almost immediately, Bucky went still. It was actually a little bit scary how still he went, like he’d become a statue. Steve watched him with wary eyes, sitting up slowly and brushing the gravel off his hands. When Bucky finally moved, it was even more slowly than Steve had. He turned with the controlled movements of someone who didn’t trust themselves, eyes wide and terrified as they came to rest on his friend.

“...Steve...?” he choked out, starting to breathe heavily. Which was actually a good sign because at least he was actually breathing _at all_ now. And then, suddenly, he was moving, wrenching to his feet and stumbling away until his back hit the wall. His eyes were impossibly wide and horrified, shifting ceaselessly between Steve and Daniel. Daniel, who was groaning on the floor and bleeding. A lot.

“You’re fuckin’ nuts,” one of Daniel’s friends spat, he and another of them dragging Daniel to his feet and supporting him between the two of them. All four fled the scene, looking nervous and shifty eyed as the glanced around for cops before disappearing around the corner. Steve blinked after them for a moment and then looked back to Bucky who was still pressed to the wall like a trapped, wild animal. Steve clambered to his feet, eyeing his friend.

“Buck?” he asked softly. The brunette flinched, squeezing his eyes shut and sliding down the wall. He wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his face in them, trembling all over. Steve stared with wide eyes for a few seconds. This was a complete 180 to the Bucky he’d seen just moments before. Steve was afraid he was suffering from whiplash. He shook himself from his surprised daze and inched forward.

“Bucky?’ he tried again. He just winced in response and let out a tiny whimpering noise. Steve lowered himself to his knees in front of his friend and reached out, carding his fingers through Bucky’s hair. Bucky shuddered and shook his head.

“Steve,” he choked out, raising his head to show his cheeks were streaked with tears. Steve grimaced and inched a bit closer, leaning forward until he could kiss Bucky’s forehead.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay.” He stroked Bucky’s cheek with his knuckles, making the boy whine and lean into it, his eyes closed. Steve let him draw comfort from the touch for the moment and then shifted up from his knees into a crouch. He tugged one of Bucky’s arms free and took his hand, rising to his feet and dragging a reluctant Bucky up with him.

“C’mon, jerk. Let’s get home,” he said softly and Bucky’s eyes went distant, his nod distracted. Steve did his best to ignore that, pulling Bucky’s arm around his shoulder and wrapping his other arm around Bucky’s waist. Luckily, or unluckily, Bucky was shaky on his feet and obviously needed the support, so it gave Steve an excuse to touch him like this.

Bucky’s gaze remained distant the whole walk home, eyes staring vacantly at the ground in front of him. He kept murmuring something under his breath, but Steve couldn’t make out what it was. Once they were back in the apartment, it took some effort to get Bucky to sit on the counter. There was a bit of focus coming back to his eyes, which meant he went back to looking like he was about to cry or panic or both, eyes wide as he half-heartedly resisted. Finally though, he gave up and lifted himself onto the kitchen counter.

Satisfied, Steve turned back to the fridge and pulled out a couple cubes of ice, wrapping them up in a thin rag and walking back over to Bucky. Bucky continued to stare at Steve with wide, remorseful eyes, letting Steve gently dab the ice against his swelling eye.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispered suddenly, but it was so quiet that it didn’t even startle Steve. He paused though, actually looking Bucky in the eye. Bucky reached up, grabbing his wrist and gently tugging his hand away. Bucky’s gaze shifted to Steve chest and he reached out with a trembling hand, touching the place he’d elbowed him lightly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again. Next, he took the ice from Steve’s hand, setting it aside, and then lifted both of Steve’s hands, palms up, to examine the scrapes. He whimpered and lightly brushed his thumbs over the wounds, making Steve’s breath hitch. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” His voice barely rose above a whisper as he spoke, like he was afraid of his own voice. His face was twisted up with pain and Steve didn’t think it had anything to do with his injured eye. He’d never seen Bucky look so terrified.

“It’s all right,” Steve assured him, his own voice sounding small. “It’s okay, Bucky.” He lifted a hand and carded his fingers through Bucky’s hair, searching his face worriedly. Bucky closed his eyes and shook his head, bending forward until he could bump his forehead against Steve’s shoulder.

“It’s not, Steve. It’s not all right. I...I was going to kill him. And I was so far out of it, I actually _hurt_ you in the process. I’m....Steve, I’m _scared_ of myself.” Steve blinked in shock, feeling his eyes go wide and the hand in Bucky’s hair stilling in surprise. Because of the close contact, he could feel Bucky flinch before he began to lean away, expression dejected.

“It’s okay, Steve. I understand. I wouldn’t wanna stick around either,” Bucky murmured, moving as though to stand. Steve made a frustrated noise and grabbed Bucky’s face gently in both hands, causing the other man to freeze.

“Bullshit,” Steve spat at him. “If I told you I wanted to kill someone on your behalf, if I had accidentally hurt you, I know for a fact that you would stay right here with me. I don’t intend on doing anything different. You were angry, Buck, and rightfully so, and you didn’t hurt me on purpose. It’s fine. I trust you, okay? I’m going to be here for you and I...you’re basically my brother. I’m not going anywhere.”

Bucky blinked down at Steve in shock, filled up with the overwhelming urge to lean down and kiss him breathless. It was something he’d thought about almost nonstop since that afternoon in their clearing. Sometimes it took a real, painful effort not to do it, to sweep him up and kiss him until the world stopped being so important and scary.

Instead, he nodded slowly and Steve smiled, relaxing marginally. He pulled Bucky’s head forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead before releasing him.

“Come on. Let’s get some sleep,” he murmured, tugging at Bucky’s sleeve until he slid of the counter and trailed him into Steve’s bedroom. The wall above Steve’s bed was littered with overlapping pictures of increasingly better quality now. At this point, you wouldn’t have been able to tell whose picture was whose if you weren’t already familiar with their styles. The sight never failed to make Bucky feel warm, like he was coming home.

The two of them stripped down and changed into their pajamas, clambering beneath the covers and curling up together as was ritual for the nights Bucky stayed over, which was more often than not. Steve snuggled up in the comforting circle of Bucky’s arms, nose pressed into his shoulder as he breathed deeply for a moment. He tangled one leg up in Bucky’s and snuggled closer. For a moment, the two of them lied there in silence, listening to the comforting sound of the other’s steady breathing.

“How long?” Bucky asked quietly, somehow leaving the serene moment undisturbed. Despite the events of the night, Steve instantly knew what he was asking. _How long have you known you like fellas?_

“I think...since I was eight? I don’t know, it’s weird. It’s not that I don’t notice girls or anythin’, cuz I do. I think I would like being with a girl...but I...I think I’d like being with a boy too. I mean, I haven’t really had all that much experience with either. I..liked kissing you, anyway....” Bucky smiled and ducked his head, pressing his nose into Steve’s hair.

“Yeah...I liked kissing you too, Stevie...” Steve smiled as well, feeling the tightness in his chest alleviate. He threw an arm across Bucky’s torso and gripped him tightly. There was another long moment of silence before Steve chose to break it this time.

“What about you?”

“I think I’ve always known. I don’t really notice dames, haven’t ever thought about being with them that way. But I do notice fellas. I think about...them, a lot. Sometimes, when I’m kissing a girl, I don’t feeling anythin’, but then I think of her as...a boy, and I get better at it.” Bucky shrugged slightly. Steve could feel Bucky’s discomfort, so he began to skate his thumb gently back and forth across his ribs.

They both thought about it; telling the other the truth. _I love you. I don’t want to be with anyone but you._ But they didn’t. Fear, of the unknown, of the potential for the one they cared about to get hurt, it stopped them in their tracks. Steve remembered what his mother had said and Bucky remembered Daniel calling Steve a fairy, how worried he’d been that rumors would begin to spread, and they remained silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading guys! I hope you enjoyed it! Kudos and comments - even critiques - are greatly appreciated! I love you guys and hope you have a lovely morning/day/afternoon/evening/night!


	8. The Lost Generation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve learns how to fight and Bucky comes home drunk for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, wow...this is incredibly late and I am so sorry. I'm probably going to start updating every two weeks, just because I've caught up with what I have written and it takes me forever to hammer out a chapter. They're always always longer than I intended for them to be, which hopefully won't continue to be a thing but probably will. Thanks to all of you for being so patient with me! I really am sorry!
> 
> WARNINGS: Underage drinking is really the only thing you have to look out for in this chapter, as well as Steve's internal fear of how homophobes will react to him and Bucky. Surprisingly, no one got beat up in this chapter, so I count that as a win. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Sooooo, in light of the Civil War trailer being released (I'm still crying about it and have offically watched it 48 times I'M SO NERVOUS) I feel like it'd be appropriate for me to warn you that this series will completely disregard that film. I've had the outline for all three parts done for /ages/ now and I could change it, but I don't really want to. I have this metaphorical hard-on for family dynamics (one of the reasons I'm obsessed with werewolves and their packs) and it always gives me anxiety when those family dynamics start crumbling - Civil War is going to take my life - so because of that I'm going to have them continue to be one big happy family in my fic, whenever I get to part three. And I'll be honest with you, part three probably won't start getting posted until after CW is in theaters so bare with me. Thanks again!

Daniel Birch and his friends were apparently too scared of Bucky to come forward about who had landed him in the hospital for almost two months. Besides, Daniel had agreed to the fight and was also the one who’d landed Steve in the hospital, something he’d probably get into trouble for. Bucky was jumpy about it for a while, but calmed down once it became apparent that he wasn’t going to get into trouble.

Jamie’s hero worship shot through the roof after Steve recounted the events of that evening, but instead of making Bucky feel better about what he’d done, it seemed to make him feel worse. Eventually, Steve had to pull Jamie aside and ask him to tone it down, because Bucky was getting snappier and snappier. Jamie was smart, especially for his age, so he caught on pretty quickly without Steve having to get into the nitty gritty about what was going on in the mess of Bucky’s head.

Once Steve was healed up enough, Bucky finally started letting him leave the house again. Well, not really, but Steve had threatened to take all of his sketches and light them on fire. There was just enough rage in his eyes that Bucky believed him and stopped blocking the door. The following Sunday, Frank hooked Steve into a hug and offered him a job without Steve having to ask. They arranged for him to come in early in the mornings and help clean every day except the weekends, which meant Steve’s Sundays were now free.

Bucky had an idea.

He showed up at Steve’s door even earlier than normal, a bag looped over his shoulder and a determined set to his jaw. Steve was still asleep when Bucky arrived, so he dumped his bag unceremoniously on the couch and marched straight into his room without so much as a knock.

“Steve, wake up,” he barked, nudging the curled up lump beneath the covers. Steve mumbled unintelligibly and tugged the blanket higher over his head. Bucky rolled his eyes and gripped the blanket, wrenching it down hard. Steve whined and grumped at Bucky, curling into an even tighter ball, but didn’t otherwise move.

“Steven Grant Rogers, I will dump ice water on your punk ass head if you don’t get out of this damn bed,” Bucky growled. Steve sat up, blinking sleepily at his friend and looking decidedly rumpled. His hair was sticking up in several different directions and the baggy shirt he wore to bed was falling off one shoulder, the sleeves falling down over his fingers, which he used to rub tiredly at his eyes.

Bucky glared harder to avoid cooing at him and crawling into bed with him, wrapping him back up in blankets and stroking his hair into place and kissing those sleepy lips and.... _Jesus Christ, Barnes, get a_ grip _._

“What do you _want_?” Steve snarled, voice rough from disuse. Bucky turned to dodge the urge to kiss him again, rummaging through Steve’s clothes. He made a displeased sound at the lack of suitable clothes for boxing and resigned himself to the torture of Steve in his clothes.

“I’m going back to sleep now,” Steve said when Bucky didn’t respond, grabbing the covers from the floor and curling up again. Bucky shook his head, marching back over and wrenching the covers down again.

“No,” he said firmly, as though he were talking to a dog. “Get up. Training starts today.” Steve sat up with a groan and then frowned over at his friend.

“Training?” he repeated.

“Yes, training. As in I am going to teach you how to kick ass so I never have to find you half dead in an alley again,” Bucky answered, stomping from the room. Steve didn’t follow him, so Bucky assumed he was getting dressed.

“I’ll probably never be able to beat a guy as big as Daniel. Or any guy, for that matter,” Steve called out to Bucky. Bucky sighed and plopped down onto the couch, picking up Steve’s sketchbook and flipping through it idly.

“If you learn your body and your strengths and how other people work, you might be able to,” he responded.

“The key word being ‘might,’” Steve said, crossing the hall into the bathroom to try and do something about his hair.

“That ‘might’ is worth the effort.” Steve grunted in reply but focused most of his attention on his hair. When he came back out, he was like regular old Steve. Bucky wondered when regular old Steve would stop making his heart skip a beat. You’d think he’d be used to the sight by now.

“All right, then let’s get going, Cap’n,” Steve said, giving him a mocking salute and cocky smirk. Bucky rolled his eyes at him but smiled, making a point to ruffle the hair he’d just fixed as he stood and headed for the door. Steve made an indignant noise, kicking at Bucky’s heels as he followed in retaliation. Bucky laughed and held the door open for him, shoving Steve’s head as he passed and making Steve swat at him.

They kept messing with each other the whole way to the rink, trash talking and generally disrupting the pedestrians. But, when they arrived at the rink, Bucky immediately sobered up. Steve made for his usual seat at one of the tables, but Bucky put a hand on the back of his neck and steered him towards the locker room. Frank watched with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, head cocked to the side curiously. Steve grumbled unhappily the entire time he changed, glaring and pulling at the too big clothing.

“This is going to fall off of me,” he protested. Bucky tugged his shirt over his head and glanced at Steve. The shorts Bucky had given him were obviously too baggy and looked like they were two seconds away from falling down around his ankles. Grinning and shaking his head, Bucky walked over and grabbed the strings dangling from the front of the shorts. He tugged them tighter and then wrapped them into a knot, hiking them a little higher up Steve’s waist and patting his hip.

“There, that should do it.” Steve blinked at him owlishly for a second and then shook his head as though to clear it, his eyes settling into a scowl again.

“Thanks,” he groused sarcastically, grabbing his shirt and tugging it over his head. He and Bucky sat next to each other to lace up their shoes and then Steve stood to head for the door. Before he could get very far, Bucky rolled his eyes and grabbed Steve’s arm, tugging him back down.

“You need to tape up,” he explained, waggling the roll in front of Steve’s face. Steve sighed like this was such a hardship and held up his hand for Bucky. Bucky smirked and shook his head, beginning to wind the white fabric around his best friend’s hand. He did it slowly, so that Steve could follow and learn how to do it. He smoothed tape into place and then held it out to Steve.

“Okay, now you do me,” he instructed, ignoring the suggestive wording in favor of his sanity. Steve eyed the tape for a second and then sighed, accepting it and taking Bucky’s hand to wound the tape around his fingers, palms, and wrists. Bucky walked him through it verbally, correcting his mistakes and showing him how to fix it. It looked nearly perfect by the time Steve was finished.

“Good. Now for the gloves.” Bucky rummaged through his bag, pulling out the gloves he sometimes used and then twisting back to Steve. The blonde accepted the black gloves, tugging them on tight. Bucky stood once he was done and Steve frowned at him.

“Where are your gloves?”

“I’m just teaching today, I don’t need them,” Bucky explained.  

Steve was, for whatever reason, a reluctant student. He got frustrated easily and kept giving out these displeased little huffs, even while Bucky was in the middle of giving him instructions. Bucky had to keep stopping him in the middle of sets and repositioning his feet. Steve’s scowl didn’t abate the whole time and Bucky knew something was going to have to change if he was going to get anywhere. And he _needed_ to get somewhere. If Steve could defend himself, then maybe his nightmares wouldn’t be so bad.

“Steve, honestly. Feet shoulder’s width apart. It ain’t that hard.” Steve grunted in acknowledgement of what he said but didn’t so much as make eye contact as he corrected his stance. Bucky paused and dropped his fists, glaring at his friend.

“All right, what the fuck is wrong with you?” he demanded. Steve glanced up at him, deepened his scowl, and then turned his gaze back to the punching bag Bucky had him set up in front of.

“Nothing,” he said curtly, slamming his fist hard into the red fabric. Bucky caught the bag - even though it was barely moving, if at all - and continued to gaze at the blonde with an unimpressed tilt of his eyebrow.

“Try again, this time without the bullshit.” Steve huffed and rolled his eyes, repeating the set Bucky had just taught him with more anger than before.

“It’s nothing, Buck. Leave it alone.” Bucky sighed and stepped between Steve and the punching bag. Steve’s eyes flashed in irritation, his cheeks turning bright red, and decided to try and land one on Bucky anyway. It was too easy for him to dodge it and grab Steve’s wrist to stop the swing. He didn’t have to repeat his questions. Steve’s anger had him exploding.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this! I’m not going to be able to take anyone out or defend myself, no matter how much I train and no matter how many moves you teach me! I’m small and weak and that’s never going to change! Why are you trying so hard to embarrass me?!” Bucky stared down at him for a moment, completely taken off guard by Steve’s outburst. Of all the things he’d expected, this had not been one of them. And now he was angry too. How could Steve think he was trying to _embarrass_ him?! That didn’t make any sense!

“Steve, you are so full of crap! I’m not trying to embarrass you, I’m trying to give you a fighting chance! If you actually put some effort into this then you could learn a few moves that might save your life. You’re right, you are small and you do look weak and people aren’t going to be expecting any skill from you whatsoever. If you surprise them and hit them with the right moves then you at least have a chance to get the hell out of dodge and avoid endin’ up in the hospital like you did last time!” Both Steve and Bucky were breathing heavily, staring each other down with all their stubborn will.

“I’m always going to be weak, Buck. I’m going to keep losing.”

“That’s not true. You’re not weak. You’re the strongest person I know, Steve.” Steve snorted.

“You don’t know many people.”

“I know everyone.” Steve’s smile was small and rueful, but Bucky counted it as a win. “Now, are you actually gonna put some effort into this or should I just go ahead and drop out of school to become your official bodyguard?” Steve rolled his eyes in a very impressive gesture and sighed.

“All right, fine. Move,” he said, waving at Bucky dismissively. Bucky grinned in response and stepped back behind the punching bag, holding it still as Steve went at his next set with renewed vigor. Bucky was just grateful that he didn’t have to explain, again, what it felt like every time he thought he was going to lose Steve. He barely liked to think about it if he could avoid it, so he was certain he couldn’t explain it well enough.

After that, Steve was surprisingly good at boxing. Bucky suspected that if he were bigger and not always catching some kind of illness, Steve would be an amazing fighter. He caught on fast and he was exceedingly focused. Probably because of the hours and hours spent unmoving except for his pencil across the canvas of his sketchbook. Frank joined in on the teaching when Bucky struggled to explain something or when he had a tip to throw in that Bucky hadn’t remembered. Steve’s confidence grew and with it his enthusiasm for training. Soon, he was the one dropping by the orphanage to wake Bucky up and pester him about going to the rink.

Steve liked the idea of being in control, of finally being able to take care of himself. Or at least to be able to prove to people that he could. He hated being fretted over and he hated that he made Bucky and Jamie and his ma worry. And it wasn’t like Steve was oblivious. He knew Bucky had nightmares and that they’d gotten worse since his run in with Daniel and he knew that they were about him most nights. Bucky had taken to sneaking out of the orphanage after a nightmare and into Steve’s room through the fire escape.

Sometimes, he would crawl into bed with Steve, shushing him and fitting his body along Steve’s, pulling him close. Other times, Steve would wake up to Bucky kneeling on the floor by his head, petting his fingers through Steve’s hair and staring at him with relief so intense Steve could almost taste it, his eyes strangely glassy in the moonlight. One night, Steve woke up to a silhouette in his window that scared him so bad he was fully awake in no time flat.

He sat bolt upright, his heart pounding, only to slump back against the bed when he realized it was just Bucky sitting on the fire escape, one leg dangling over the side and his other knee propped up with his arm draped over it, his free hand stuffed into the pocket of his jacket. After Steve had caught his breath and was sure he wouldn’t have an asthma attack, he clambered out of bed and approached the window. The blonde frowned when he saw the bottle clutched in his friend’s hand, his gaze staring out over the city with a haunted expression.

Bucky turned at the sound of the window sliding open and glanced guiltily at the bottle in his hand.

“What’s that?” Steve asked as he climbed out the window, wiping the sleep from his eyes. Bucky sighed.

“Alcohol,” he answered plainly, taking a resigned sip as he stared back over the skyline. Steve stared.

“Are you drunk?”

“Just about.”

“Why?”

“Nightmares.”

“But why alcohol? Why not just come see me, talk to me about it?”

“Don’t always do much good, Stevie,” Bucky slurred, scrubbing at his face with a shaking hand.

“C’mon, Buck. Something else is going on here. You’ve been dealin’ with nightmares all your life. Why alcohol now?” Bucky sighed and tilted his head back, letting it thunk back against the metal and closing his eyes.

“Got fired today.” Steve cursed and sat down hard on the windowsill, staring at his friend in horror. Bucky took another sip of the alcohol.

“Did...did they say _why_?”

“Gettin’ too big, they said. Too old. They need the young ones. Only kept me on this long cos Imma good worker. Blew my last wad a’ cash on this liquefied sin. Not mah best idea, but...” he trailed off with a shrug, opening his eyes to stare at the city once again.

“Gonna have to drop out,” he added quietly.

“Bucky, no!” Steve cried, lurching forward to clutch at his friend’s hand. Bucky _loved_ to learn. He loved school and doing his homework and helping Steve with his, especially when he missed because he was sick. Bucky wanted to do things with his life, to go out and accomplish and become. Steve would have just been glad to follow him wherever he wanted to go.

Bucky sighed and flopped sideways, leaning against Steve and clutching at his hand as he bit back tears.

“Gotta, Steve. Leo says the docks are lookin’ for some more grunt workers and I gotta help pay off those doctor bills.” Steve gritted his teeth against the hot sting of tears in his eyes and held his friend close, pressing his nose into the tousle of dark brown hair and glaring out over Brooklyn. He hated himself so much for putting his mother and his best friend in this situation, hated himself even more for continuing to be a burden with his illnesses. He could scarcely even pull his own weight; the money from Frank’s barely putting a dent in anything.  

“Buck, I’m _sorry_ ,” he whispered, cursing the way his voice cracked around the last word. Bucky sniffed and wiped his nose, sitting up and taking another pull from his bottle.

“It ain’t your fault, Stevie. Don’t sweat it.”

“I’m gonna sweat it,” Steve said with a scowl, studying his friend’s profile. He was overcome by the overwhelming need to grab Bucky’s face in both his hands and kiss him slowly, explain to him how much he loved and appreciated him. Instead he took the bottle from Bucky’s hand and poured the rest of it out, dodging when Bucky let out an indignant noise and tried to swipe the bottle back.

“Aw, Steve! I paid for that shit!” Steve rolled his eyes and ducked back into his room; dumping the bottle in his trashcan and tugging open the top drawer of his dresser. He pulled out the small wad of cash he’d been storing for some new pencils and tossed it at Bucky who was now standing in the middle of his room with a scowl.

“There, that should make up for what was left in the bottle. The clothes you left here last week are folded up on top of the dresser. Get changed and I’ll leave a note with my mom to call the orphanage before she goes to bed and let them know you’re here.” Bucky huffed and glared at his punk friend.

“M’okay to go home, Steve,” he groused. Steve rolled his eyes.

“Sure thing. If you wanna explain to Mrs. Louise why you’re hungover in the morning, by all means, be my guest,” he said, gesturing at the window and raising his eyebrows. The two of them stared each other down for several long minutes before Bucky finally grumbled to himself and stalked to the dresser, grabbing his clothes from the top and throwing Steve’s money back in the drawer as he went. Steve smirked and slipped out of the room to write the note for Sarah on the back of one of his old homework sheets, leaving it on top of her plate of food in the ice box so she’d find it.

Once that was done, Steve poured a glass of water and then started rooting around in the kitchen for something to eat. Nothing. He sighed and scrubbed at his forehead, staring at the near empty contents of the ice box with resentment. And fear. If Bucky was getting into drinking, Steve wasn’t sure what he’d do. He’d seen what drinking had done to men and women in Brooklyn, heard the horror stories and seen the bruises on the students that no one talked about but everyone knew where they’d come from. Steve didn’t think Bucky would ever hurt him, but he was afraid of losing Bucky to this, of Bucky getting lost in the bottle.

He closed the ice box and leaned his forehead against it, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths to calm the churning in his stomach. If this was going to be a regular thing, Steve was going to need to prepare himself. He was just about to open his eyes and head back to take Bucky his water when he felt two strong arms circle around his waist. He yelped in surprise and jerked upright. Bucky chuckled, his hot breath fanning out across Steve’s neck, and slipped a hand under his shirt, fingers tracing lightly up and down Steve’s stomach.

On instinct, Steve let out a pleased noise and melted back against Bucky, eyelids fluttering. And then he froze, eyes bursting open to the size of saucers. He gasped in shock, realizing exactly what this meant. His heart skipped over several beats, tripping clumsily in his chest and making his breath hitch. Bucky...Bucky was...attracted to him, at the very least. But, no, that couldn’t be right. Just because Bucky was _queer_ didn’t mean he automatically had to like Steve...But then...maybe that would explain how into the kiss he’d been...the lingering looks...the ridiculous amounts of cuddling...

“C’mon, Stevie...come to bed,” Bucky practically purred against his ear, voice pitched low and syrupy sweet, interrupting Steve’s train of thought. Steve bit his lip against a whine and locked his muscles to resist turning in his arms, crushing their lips together and falling into bed with him. Steve knew better than that. He knew better than to take advantage of Bucky when he wasn’t in control of his actions, when he probably wouldn’t remember them in the morning, no matter how much he wanted to. And he hadn’t forgotten how much danger it would put Bucky in if they were to be caught like this.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steadying himself before he reached down and curled his fingers around Bucky’s wrists, tugging them gently away from him and putting two steps between them.

“Buck, no,” he said softly. Bucky blinked at him blurrily for a moment and then frowned.

“What’s wrong? I ain’t good enough for you?” he demanded, face closing off in the way it did when he was hurt. Steve shook his head and stepped forward again, taking his friend’s hand.

“No, that’s not it. That’s not it at all. You’re just not in your right mind and I don’t want you doing anything you’ll regret later.” _And I have to protect you from this, no matter how much I want it._ Bucky frowned further and shook his head at Steve.

“I could never regret you, Stevie,” he murmured and Steve’s heart clenched. He wanted to cry or scream or throw things or...or _hurt_ someone. It just wasn’t fair! He wanted Bucky, wanted him so bad his goddamn bones ached and his stomach hurt so intensely he could throw up. He wanted so much to be able to hold his hand in public, to kiss him at homecoming next year in front of the whole school, to call Bucky his and do it without worrying about losing him altogether. He wanted it badly enough that it scared him. But he could never have it and it made him angrier than he knew how to deal with.

Bucky seemed to notice Steve’s distress, because he dropped his hand in favor of hooking him into a tight hug. Steve collapsed against him, making the older boy sway and then lean back against the counter, his equilibrium thrown off due to the alcohol. Steve fisted his hands in the back of Bucky’s shirt and buried his face in his chest, heaving in deep breaths to keep from crying.

“You will. You’ll regret it if it gets us both hurt, or...or worse,” he grumbled into the brunette’s shirt. Bucky held him back just as tightly, pressing his nose into the tousle of blonde hair.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I ain’t thinkin’ straight.” Steve sighed and lingered for a moment before pulling back and grabbing the water, holding it out to Bucky.

“It’s all right, jerk. Drink up,” he instructed. Bucky smirked and ruffled Steve’s hair.

“Punk,” he shot back, accepting the water and guzzling it down. Once he was satisfied, Steve shooed him back into his room.

“I’ll be right behind you. I just need some water myself and then I’m gonna use the restroom.” Bucky studied him for a moment before shrugging and making his slow, wobbly way back to the bedroom. Steve watched him go, making sure the poor schmuck didn’t take a header, until he disappeared through the doorway. With a groan, he slumped back against the counter and buried his head in his hands.

His life had just gotten a whole lot harder now that he knew Bucky returned his feelings.

He gave himself thirty seconds to pull his shit together and then guzzled two glasses of water. He turned the faucet on and splashed water in his face, using his wet fingers to push his hair from his forehead and rub at his neck. A night curled up around Bucky was probably the last thing he needed, but if he slept on the couch, there was no telling what could happen to his friend. After a quick stop in the restroom, he made his way back to his room.

By the time he made it back to his room, Bucky was already passed out on his back, one arm flung dramatically over his forehead and his shirt rucked up around his ribs. Steve stared at him for a moment, studying the way the colors were washed pale by the silver moonlight. He shrugged and grabbed his sketchbook from on top of his dresser, settling on the chair tucked into the corner of his room and scribbling out a rough sketch of Bucky in the moonlight.

An hour later, he set his things aside with blurry eyes and clambered into the bed, curling into Bucky’s side like it was the most natural thing in the world. Bucky mumbled in his sleep, rubbing his nose into Steve’s hair and tossing an arm around his waist. Steve smiled sleepily to himself and wrapped an arm around Bucky’s torso, rubbing his thumb back and forth along Bucky’s ribs. He frowned a little at how prominent they were and wished, not for the first time, that this damned Depression would just get up and go already so he could stop worrying about his friend’s health.

The next morning, Steve was the first one to be awake. Which wasn’t actually so rare - Bucky would sleep until noon if he could swing it - but he was still worried about the brunette. Most of the bottle had been gone the night before and Steve was fairly certain that it had been the first time Bucky’d had that much alcohol before. Steve had no idea what to expect.

The two of them had somehow moved around in their sleep. They were both lying on their stomachs, their faces mere centimeters apart. Steve had an arm around Bucky’s neck as though to hold him close enough for their foreheads to almost be touching, and Bucky had an arm around his waist, grip vise tight. Steve felt butterflies swarming madly around in his chest and closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths to calm himself down. After a moment, he opened his eyes and shifted his hand to tug gently at Bucky’s ear.

“Buck,” he murmured, nudging the brunette’s thigh with his knee. “Buck, wake up.” Bucky didn’t so much as shift in his sleep, continuing to snore softly on. Steve huffed and tugged at his ear a little harder. “C’mon. You gotta get up, jerk. I need to piss.”

A long, low groan rumbled out of Bucky’s chest and he rolled so his back was to Steve, tugging the blankets completely over his head. He stopped groaning for half a second before it picked up again. Steve propped himself up on one elbow and frowned down at him.

“Hey, you all right?” he asked, stroking his hand down Bucky’s arm worriedly. Bucky merely groaned in response and then stilled suddenly. “Bucky?” He lurched upright, throwing the blankets off and stumbling out of the bed, nearly flattening Steve in his haste. He tore off down the hall and barely managed to make it to the bathroom before he was upending the entire contents of his stomach. Steve cursed and hurried after him, kneeling at his side and stroking his hair back from his clammy forehead the way he liked when he was sick.

Bucky continued to heave into the toilet, even when he didn’t have anything left to throw up. When he was finally finished, he grunted and leaned heavily against Steve.

“That was the worst decision a’ my life, Stevie. Never drink,” he grumbled, forehead pressed into Steve’s neck. Steve chuckled softly and continued to stroke his fingers through his best friend’s hair.

“Noted, Buck. Thanks for the advice. Now, c’mon. Let’s get you a glass of water and tucked back into bed,” he ordered, helping the hungover fool to his feet. Bucky resisted, frowning heavily as he squinted against the light.

“Can’t. I gotta go to the docks and get that job,” he groused. Steve shook his head.

“You can do that later, Buck. You ain’t gonna get any decent job like this. Some water and more sleep will do you wonders, trust me.” It took several more minutes of coaxing, but Steve finally got a glass of water into the brunette and then tucked him beneath the covers. He waited until he was sure Bucky was out before scribbling a hasty note about where he was going and leaving it on the pillow next to his friend. He swept Bucky’s hair off his forehead and placed a featherlight kiss there before ducking out of the apartment.

He climbed one flight of stairs to the apartment door above him where Mr. Kent lived. He took a deep breath and prayed he wasn’t disturbing anybody before knocking three times. A second later, the door opened about an inch and glowering, dull blue eyes peaked through the crack.

“What?” Mr. Kent grunted and then his eyes swept down to settle on Steve. His features softened and he opened the door a little more. “Oh, Steve. What’re you doin’ here, kid?” he asked, much more pleasantly.

“Uh, well....Bucky’s got himself a hangover. I was wonderin’ if you knew how I could help him out?”

Mr. Kent was an old World War I vet and very gruff around the edges. The first few times Steve had met him, he’d been scared out of his wits, but Sarah had always smiled warmly at the man and seemed nothing but amused and quietly respectful of him. Mr. Kent had been the one to suggest the drawing lessons when he’d noticed Steve’s interest and now Theodore Kent was one of his closest friends. So close, Steve even knew about his drinking problem.

Mr. Kent stared at him for a moment and then heaved a sigh, propping the door open all the way and shuffling back into his room. Mr. Kent’s apartment was even smaller than Steve’s and almost every surface was covered in art. Pictures hung on the wall, scrap pieces of paper littered the coffee table and the kitchen table, sketchbooks were tossed haphazardly onto the couch, and easels with colorful and bleak paintings splashed across their canvases were propped up in every corner and in every available space.

Steve shut the door behind him and studied one of the new paintings on the easel in the kitchen while Mr. Kent went about pouring them some tea to drink. His time overseas had given him a fondness for hot tea that had leaked over onto Steve over the years.

“First things first, coffee,” Mr. Kent said and Steve smiled privately to himself. Mr. Kent was also obsessed with coffee. “Straight black is the way to go, if you wanna kill the hangover headache. Also, there’s this new stuff, Alka-Seltzer...well, it came out in ‘31, but it works miracles, I tell ya. Water is important too, helps if you get it in ‘im early. Soon as he gets home, or better yet when he starts gettin’ tipsy, start passin’ ‘im the water. Should help ‘im to feel better in the mornin’. Ain’t nothin’ better than a hot cupa joe and a greasy breakfast when you wake up with a hangover. Lotsa sleep too. Ain’t nobody sleepin’ well after they done drunk ‘emselves near ta death.

Oh, an’ if he passes out, make sure you get ‘im over on his side. ‘Cause if the alcohol makes a second appearance, he could choke on it. Learned that shi-er... _stuff_ the hard way.”

Steve made a mental note of everything Mr. Kent said, nodding to himself and staring at the man in concentration.

“So,” Mr. Kent drawled, pushing the cup of tea towards Steve who accepted it gratefully. “What made that dimwit drink at 15 years old?” he asked and Steve blinked in surprise.

“Wait, that’s it?” Mr. Kent shrugged.

“There ain’t much to do to stop a hangover. Except don’t drink and Lord knows how hard I know that is.” Steve sighed and sipped his tea, rubbing tiredly at his forehead. “Now, tell me what’s goin’ on.”

“He lost his job at the factory and he’s been havin’ real bad nightmares lately.”

“Sore luck, kid. ‘M sorry.” Steve shrugged.

“It’s all right, I guess. I just...worry about him.” Mr. Kent nodded.

“I get it. He gonna get another job?” Steve snorted, scowling at his shoes.

“Yeah. He thinks he has some kinda obligation to help pay for my doctor bills. He’s gonna try and get a job at the docks.”

“I hear that’s tough work,” Mr. Kent noted and Steve couldn’t help but be thankful for his bluntness. At least he knew what to expect with this. Steve slumped against the counter, frowning into his tea.

“The factory was tough work. Apparently kids died and lost limbs workin’ there.”

“Well now. I don’ think it’ll be quite that bad at the docks. He’ll smell like fish a lot though, that’s for sure.” Steve huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.“I can handle fish,” he mused.

“You say that now,” Mr. Kent grumbled, wrinkling his nose distastefully. Steve laughed, feeling better already. Coming to Mr. Kent had been a good idea for more than one reason.

“He’s gonna be okay, kid,” Mr. Kent assured him, clapping Steve on the shoulder with a soft expression. “He’s the resilient type. In the war, the men like ‘im were the men that found their way back to human. Sure, his methods ain’t so pretty, but he’s doin’ what he’s gotta do to figure out what copin’ looks like. You ain’t gotta worry about ‘im losin’ the important bits of himself, just so long as you stick with him.” Steve stared at his surrogate grandfather for a moment and then took a deep breath, nodding with a pained smile.

“Yeah...” he said hoarsely and then cleared his throat. “Yeah. Thanks, Mr. Kent.”

“No problem, Steve. Now, you head on home and tell James I hope he gets to feelin’ better. And don’t worry; your secret’s safe with me.” Steve finished off his tea, thanked Mr. Kent once again, and then hurried back to his apartment. Bucky was still blessedly asleep, so Steve was able to rummage around the kitchen for something to whip together for the greasy breakfast Mr. Kent said would help.

He had nothing. Not even coffee. Groaning, Steve slammed his forehead down on the counter, wishing himself into an alternative universe where he was a handsome, strong, rich man who could actually take care of the people he loved. And, you know, _have_ the people he loved in exactly the way he wanted them. Cursing, Steve straightened out and decided a cup of tea was the next best thing that he could provide.

He was in the middle of sketching at the kitchen table, waiting on the tea to steep, when he heard a pitiful moan and the sound of Bucky hurrying down the hall into the bathroom. Steve flipped his sketchbook closed and grabbed a glass of water before hurrying after his friend. He knelt next to Bucky like he’d done the night before and stroked his back this time, scratching his nails lightly over his clammy skin beneath his shirt.

“Ugh,” Bucky grunted, flopping back on his ass and scowling at the toilet. Steve tore off a piece of toilet paper and passed it to him, followed closely by the glass of water.

“I take it you aren’t feeling any better then?” Steve asked, arching an eyebrow. Bucky squinted at him, obviously not enjoying the light. Steve flicked it off so that the hall light was all that illuminated Bucky’s face. Bucky grunted in response to Steve’s question and rested his forehead on his shoulder. The glass of water was only half empty.

“C’mon, buddy. Finish up that water and then I’ll get you some tea to wash that taste out.”

“This is weird,” Bucky grumbled, leaning back and sipping at his water. Steve raised an amused eyebrow at him.

“Oh? How so?”

“This is usually my job.” Steve snorted and helped Bucky to his feet.

“Yeah, well, it’s way past my turn to take care of you for once. Just let it happen.” He patted Bucky’s chest who rolled his eyes and then winced, rubbing at his forehead. Steve smirked, probably enjoying this more than he should. He took the now empty glass from Bucky and steered him off towards his room, waiting until he was inside before hurrying into the kitchen.

The tea was going to be a little strong now but Bucky could handle it. He seemed to appreciate it anyway, inhaling deeply and letting out a throaty moan. Steve bit his lip and cursed his entire existence.

“So...,” he began, leaning back casually against the wall. Except he nearly missed and toppled to the ground. He righted himself, turning bright red as Bucky chuckled at him. He scowled and propped himself up properly against the wall. “Anyway...what do you remember about last night?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Bucky sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, frowning down at the tea.

“Not much, really. I remember deciding to come to your house, but that’s about it.”

“How much did you actually drink?” Steve asked incredulously. Bucky shrugged.

“Just that one bottle, as far as I can remember. I didn’t have the money for any more. Guess I’m a lightweight.” Steve had the sickening feeling that it wouldn’t stay that way for very long.

“Why? I do anything weird?” Bucky asked, a faint smirk playing across his lips. Steve froze for a moment, his brain short circuiting as the events from the night before came back in sharp clarity. His breathing hitched and his eyes went wide and he couldn’t for the life of him come up with a valid explanation for his reaction even though he could _feel_ Bucky getting suspicious of him.

“Oh god, was it bad?” Bucky asked, sounding horrified. Steve’s brain slowly came back online and he blinked several times, refocusing on his friend’s face and laughing nervously.

“Uh, no. But I was just thinking of all the ways it could have been bad...or, you know, weird or something...” Bucky squinted at Steve skeptically.

“You’re a horrible liar.” Steve deflated, mind scrabbling for a valid story. If he told Bucky what happened, then a discussion about _feelings_ would happen and they would both admit to liking each other, or finding each other attractive at the very least. And then Bucky might...do something - hug him or, god forbid, kiss him - and then Steve would be ruined. He’d say yes and give him whatever he wanted and then Bucky could get hurt and it was all just an endless cycle. Steve always seemed to come back to this place of worrying about how his feelings would affect Bucky.

“Nothing really, Buck. You’re just a...handsy drunk...is all,” he explained with a shrug. It was close enough to the truth that it wasn’t obvious he wasn’t saying everything but vague enough that Bucky a) wouldn’t ask more question and b) wouldn’t get close enough to the full truth to endanger himself.

However, Steve’s plan seemed to have backfired spectacularly. When he looked up, Bucky was staring at him with a horrified expression, his face as white as a sheet and his eyes wide.

“What did I _do_?” Steve groaned and tipped his head back, mouthing ‘why me’ at the ceiling.

“See, this is why I didn’t want to say anything! You’re blowing it out of proportion! You were just very clingy and cuddly. It wasn’t anything major, I promise.” _Except, you know, for the fact that you basically admitted to being attracted to me so there’s that._ Bucky scrutinized him for a moment, the color slowly returning to his cheeks. Finally, he relaxed a little, sipping his tea and shrugging.

“All right, if you say so...,” he muttered, closing his eyes and snuggling back against the wall.

“Hey, Buck? You mind if I sketch you?” Bucky opened his eyes to give Steve a dubious look.

“You wanna sketch me while I’m hungover and look like shit?”

“Yeah, I wanna capture the moment, you know? Where your outsides match your insides?” Bucky blinked at him, taking a moment to process the words, and Steve grinned his shit-eating grin. When Bucky’s brain finally caught up, he glowered.

“You know, mockery is not the best way to get what you want.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Fine; you look rumpled and gorgeous and I just can’t help myself, I simply must capture this moment of natural beauty.” Bucky grunted and rolled his eyes, but he was fighting a smile as he closed his eyes and began to sip his tea again. He leaned his back and rested his head against the wall, going unnaturally still. Steve smiled and grabbed his sketchbook and pencil again. He flipped past the picture from the night before, flushing a little, and began to put Bucky onto the page like he’d become so good at.

This time, it was more than a rough sketch. He was being careful about it, paying extra attention to the details, studying Bucky longer to make sure he got the shape of his hair just right, shading meticulously. Bucky seemed to sense this too. Steve was pretty sure he’d fallen asleep, but he didn’t move at all to give this away. Steve was just attune to all things Bucky though, so he could tell.

An hour or two later - Steve didn’t know, he always lost track of time when he was sketching - he added the finishing touches to the drawing and then scribbled down the instructions Mr. Kent had given him with little bullet points and everything. He read it over and studied the sketch for a moment and then nodded in satisfaction. He flipped the sketchbook closed and stood, striding over to Bucky.

He took the half empty mug of tea from his hands and set it carefully on the floor. He manhandled Bucky down onto his side and pulled the blankets up around him, perching on the side of the bed and stroking his fingers through Bucky’s hair which was starting to closely resemble a rat’s nest.

“Jeez, Buck...,” he whispered. He didn’t really want Bucky to wake up and reply; the comment was more an expression of the confusing jumble of emotions in his chest. Bucky mumbled quietly in his sleep and snuggled deeper into his pillow. Steve smiled and shook his head.

“You’ll be okay,” he told his friend quietly. “We’ll figure this out...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I shamelessly introduced another oc and I really just don't even care because I love Mr. Kent. Also, it's pretty unlikely that he'll appear again. And for those of you who may be concerned or wondering about Jamie - I don't think there are enough of you reading for that, but still - he shall make his return! Do not fret! Also, I'm sorry about how ridiculously long my chapters are. I have no self control. Anyway, thanks for reading guys! Kudos and comments are appreciated, but mostly I just hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> PSA: I'm planning to update chapter nine, These Hands Cannot Be Gentle, on December 9th, so keep your eyes peeled for those of you who can't or haven't subscribed! Thanks again!


	9. These Hands Cannot Be Gentle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky meets a fellow gay man and Steve and Bucky go without talking for the longest time since meeting each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? What is this? Is this an actual CHAPTER?! Oh my gods, it is! Who would have thought, right?? 
> 
> Lol, okay in all seriousness, I am so sorry. I know I told you December 9th as though I were under some illusion that I /ever/ make deadlines, but this was, as you can obviously tell, a complete lie. It is now January 12th. I know, I suck. Well, I mean, there are a very few of you who even care, but there /are/ some of you and I feel really awful to have deprived you all. This chapter is ridiculously long and took on a mind of it's own and, I'll be honest with you here, Steve was not being very cooperative this time around. 
> 
> I would promise to try not to make it so long next time, but while I will try we all know it's going to be ages once again. Especially now that I have two AP classes that are already whooping my ass. So, I'm sorry in advance. I'm not even going to disillusion myself into thinking I'll stick to it by setting up a schedule for when it'll come out, so chapter ten will be here when it gets here! 
> 
> Also, one more announcement, the original mini-plot of chapter ten didn't have much substance to it and then Bucky sorta took control of the last part of this chapter so the mini-plot for chapter eleven no longer made sense in the grand scheme of things. Long story short, I have exed the original chapter ten and switched everything around so that now there will only be 13 chapters instead of 14. I'm sorry, but you'll thank me in the long run. We avoided a lot of useless angst this way! Anyway, enjoy!
> 
> WARNINGS: Violence because of homophobia, homophobic language (to an extent) though it's without the intent to harm, canon-typical fighting (it's not Steve's fault this time!), underage drinking (if you're American like me anyway), and descriptions of an asthma attack. I think that's it for the warnings. Let me know if I missed anything so I can tag it! Thanks!

“C’mon, Stevie, you fuckin’ slow poke,” Bucky called over his shoulder, jogging briskly up the hill. Steve rolled his eyes and raised his middle finger at the back of Bucky’s head. Jamie snorted with laughter beside him. Steve knew Bucky wasn’t actually trying to make him go faster - who’d want their best friend to have an asthma attack on their birthday? - but the brunette’s favorite pastime was making Steve want to strangle him.

“Why’re you yellin’ at me and not Jamie?” he shouted back. Jamie scoffed and punched Steve’s shoulder.

“You’re right!” Bucky said, turning to jog backwards up the hill. “I’m being completely unfair! Jamie, move your ass! We ain’t got all night, the both of ya!” The older boy smirked down at them and this time, Jamie was the one who flipped him off. Bucky’s smirk slipped and he wrinkled his nose at them, rolling his eyes. “Up yours, dumbfuck,” he snapped and returned the gesture. He turned back around and sprinted the rest of the way to the top, disappearing from sight momentarily.

Steve couldn’t help but to laugh at Jamie’s scandalized expression, clambering the rest of the way up the hill. Bucky stood there with a huge grin, hands on his hips as he stood proudly before his fancy display. There was a patchwork blanket spread out across the ground beneath a tall oak tree with three apples and a bottle of alcohol resting in the center.

“Bucky...,” Steve breathed, staring at the display. “How much did all this _cost_?” Bucky groaned and dropped his head to cover his face with one hand.

“Dammit, Steve, can’t you just say thank you and appreciate what I do for you? Just once?” he pleaded. Steve sighed and walked forward, tugging Bucky’s hand from his eyes to force eye contact.

“I’m sorry, Buck. I just worry. It’s great, though. Spectacular. I...I really appreciate it. Thanks, pal.” Bucky stared at him with a dubious expression for a moment and then grinned broadly.

“You’re welcome, Stevie boy. Now, sit. Enjoy. The fireworks’ll start soon!” Steve smiled and rolled his eyes fondly, plopping down next to Bucky with Jamie on his other side. Bucky tossed each of them an apple, crunching into his own with a huge bite and chewing obnoxiously until Steve laughed and shoved at him. Jamie took a bite of his apple, chewed thoughtfully for a moment, nudged Steve’s shoulder, and then promptly opened his mouth to reveal the mush of his former apple once he had both of their attention.

Steve wrinkled his nose and looked away. “Oh, gross,” he protested, shaking his head. Bucky laughed loudly, tossing his head back. Steve watched in rapture as his eyes crinkled around the corners, his nose wrinkling slightly, his eyebrows going up his forehead, and his eyes brightening with amusement.

“You’re both disgusting,” Steve informed them, wrenching his gaze away and taking a bite from his own apple.

“Aw, Stevie, loosen up a bit, would ya?” Bucky said through his laughter, nudging him with a huge grin.

“Yeah, Stevie, don’t be such a girl,” Jamie mocked, taking on an exaggerated version of Bucky’s accent. Bucky cuffed him over the back of the head while Steve guffawed, nearly spewing apple bits everywhere. He swallowed and laughed, leaning into Jamie conspiratorially. Bucky scowled at them but, of course, there was no real heat in it.

“I don’t sound like that,” he protested, biting into his apple once again.

“Yes, you do,” Steve and Jamie said at the exact same time and then collapsed into laughter. Bucky rolled his eyes and tucked his apple into his mouth, holding it with his teeth and using his now freed hands to open the alcohol. Unfortunately for him, he had to chew his bite of apple, so Steve snatched the bottle from his hand, ignoring Bucky’s noise of protest.

“It’s my birthday; I get first dibs,” he said and tipped his head back, taking a long pull from the bottle. Steve had yet to get drunk and didn’t really have a desire to, but Bucky had been drunk more times than Steve could count in the last year or so since his first incident. A part of Steve had hoped that the horrible first hangover would have turned him off to the whole drinking scene, but Bucky was always getting his hands on alcohol when they had the money. So far it hadn’t interfered with Bucky’s day to day life or his finances or anything, so Steve hadn’t yet felt the need to stage an intervention.

Jamie, however, was being kept firmly away from the alcohol. Steve wasn’t even the one who was being so insistent about it; it was Bucky. He didn’t like for Steve to drink either, worried about his already poor health, but he seemed to be making a conscious effort not to be so controlling and overprotective of Steve. Steve had admitted several months ago that he felt like Bucky was treating him like a fragile dame, which had probably triggered Bucky’s efforts.

“You’re incorrigible,” Bucky snapped, snatching the alcohol back. Steve raised both eyebrows but Jamie beat him to the punch line.

“Ooh, Bucky used a big word. Did’ja read that in one of your fancy Sci-Fi novels, Buck?” he teased. Steve smirked and watched Bucky roll his eyes, taking a few gulps from the bottle. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and parted his lips to reply, but there was a sudden whistling noise followed closely by an explosive boom. All three of the teens turned to watch the burst of colors fan out and then rain down from the sky.

Bucky’s grin was more dazzling than the colors, Steve thought.

“Look at that, Stevie! Brooklyn’s tellin’ ya happy birthday!” he crowed, throwing his hands into the air and laughing. Steve rolled his eyes.

“That may have worked when I was eight, James, but it sure as hell ain’t workin’ anymore. You can drop it,” he scolded, but he was fighting a smile, so he thought it probably wasn’t very intimidating. Bucky went wide eyed, feigning innocence and confusion.

“Why, Steve, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he gasped, taking another sip of the alcohol. Steve shook his head and took it back from him to have another sip and then bit into his apple.

“Wait, you tried to convince Steve that they were putting on fireworks for his birthday? And he believed you?”

“Yes,” Bucky said with a grin at the same time that Steve said, “No.” Jamie snickered and shook his head, making an absent minded grab for the alcohol. Steve moved it just out of his reach. Unfortunately, this put it right in front of Bucky who promptly took it back.

“Fellas, I’m only a year behind you. I’m not a baby anymore,” Jamie pointed out, scowling at them and making a grab for the bottle.

“Well, you’re right about that. But your mental age is probably, like, eight still, so no alcohol for you,” Bucky said with an apologetic shrug that wasn’t very apologetic.

“If my mental age is eight, then yours is two. Steve is _maybe_ nine.”

“Oh! I’m mentally the oldest! Cool.”

“He’s only saying that ‘cause it’s your birthday.”

“And I saved his life.”

“Er, no. That would have been me. You were getting the shit kicked out of you. His step brother would have finished you off and then continued to kill him if I hadn’t shown up.”

“Bucky, I think you’re just jealous that Jamie likes me better,” Steve teased, hooking an arm around Jamie and dragging him close.

“Actually,” Jamie piped up, a huge smile stretched across his face, “I don’t have a favorite. But whoever gives me the alcohol first will definitely be my favorite.” Steve and Bucky both blinked down at him for a moment. Steve smirked.

“You know what? I think I’m good with a tie. How about you, Buck?” he asked, glancing over at the brunette. Bucky flashed him a wide grin.

“I’m down with a tie,” he agreed, nodding. Jamie groaned and shoved Steve off of him.

“You’re both a fuckin’ pile of wet blankets, you know that?” Bucky snorted.

“Don’t be so dramatic. You know we’re only lookin’ out for you. Ain’t that right, Stevie?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly right, Buck.”

They spent the rest of the night sprawled out on the patchwork blanket, talking smack and watching the bursts of color dance across the sky. They let Jamie finish off the last sip of the alcohol and howled with laughter for nearly fifteen minutes at the face he made. Jamie had never been much of a night owl, so he fell asleep within the first ten minutes after the fireworks were over. Bucky and Steve stayed awake for hours longer, talking and searching the stars for constellations.

Finally, when it was pushing past midnight, Steve and Bucky roused Jamie and the three of them made their way back to the apartment. They set Jamie up with a spare pillow and blanket on the couch. He was out the moment his red head hit the pillow. Snickering around huge yawns, the two best friends ducked into Steve’s room, changing into their pajamas and crawling beneath the covers.

“Hey, Steve?” Bucky murmured, one arm wrapped around Steve’s waist and his body cradling his from behind.

“Yeah?”

“Happy Birthday.”

“Thanks.”

“G’night, punk.” Steve smiled sleepily and pulled the covers up a bit, settling into the pillow.

“Night, jerk.”

***

Bucky pulled his threadbare jacket tighter around his shoulders and shuddered, cupping his hands in front of his mouth and blowing hot air onto his frozen fingers. It was the first really cold day of the year and the brunette couldn’t help but to curse his bad luck under his breath as he hurried down the steps of the orphanage.

Of course the first really cold day would fall on a Sunday. If he had known it was going to get like this, he would have told Steve to stay home. And he knew better than to let himself hope that Steve would have willingly stayed home instead of trekking to the gym in this weather. Steve was too stubborn to do anything sensible.

Bucky kept his chin tucked close to his chest and his hands shoved in his pockets to avoid the bitter wind whistling into his face. It was because of this pose that he missed the person running at him, full speed, until they slammed into him, panting and clutching at his arm. He reeled back in surprise, body coiling and ready to fight, until he realized it was a girl who didn’t appear to have any intentions of hitting him. She had raven black hair, even darker than his, and it was incredibly thick and wavy. Her bright, icy blue eyes stood out in stark contrast against her light, tawny brown skin.

Bucky blinked down at her, completely baffled. Firstly, she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever laid eyes on. Secondly, black people did not often willingly approach white people. Bucky didn’t have anything against them - Sarah had made sure to terrify that out of him - and Steve never had a problem with anyone unless they were being assholes, but how were the black people to know that? They couldn’t be expected to, which was why Bucky had become accustomed to being ignored by them in general.

Therefore, Bucky wasn’t _mad_ she was grabbing at him with that wide eyed, panicked look; he was just _surprised_.

“You...,” she stopped to gulp in a huge breath of air and then plowed on. “You’re Bucky, right?” Bucky couldn’t do much more than nod in confusion. “Oh, thank God. My brother...he and his...friend, they’re...and I thought maybe you’d....I’m sorry, I just-”

“Whoa, slow down,” Bucky said softly, finding his bearings in the face of her panic. He took her gently by the shoulders and forced her to make eye contact, her eyes finally stopping their restless shifting. He gave her one of his best, encouraging smiles and she seemed to relax a little. “Take a deep breath and tell me what’s goin’ on.” She nodded and inhaled deeply, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she looked strong and brave and determined and even more beautiful than before.

“My brother and his boyfriend are getting beat up a block away. I can fight but there are three of them. If I call the cops, my brother and his boyfriend will be institutionalized. Will you help me?”

Well, now Bucky was even more stunned than before. He didn’t know how this girl knew him or why she trusted him but he did know he had to help her. If it were him and Steve...he’d want someone to help Jamie save them. He took a deep breath, cast one glance towards the direction of the gym, and then met her eyes again, nodding.

“Okay, yeah. Lead the way,” he said and she slumped with relief, grabbing his hand and tearing off in the direction she’d come from. She moved so fast, Bucky was struggling to keep up. He didn’t know what the two of them were going to find when they got there, but the dread was coiling up tightly in his stomach. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.

And, obviously, he worried about Steve. If Bucky didn’t show up, the blonde would get worried and come looking for him. Bucky was probably selfish for this, but he hoped whatever he had to do didn’t take long. If Steve came out in the cold, he’d get sick for sure and Bucky wasn’t keen on having to steal meds again.

The girl lead him around a corner and Bucky froze.

He’d been right; it wasn’t good at all.

Towards the back of the alley, a light skinned boy with blonde hair lied in a crumpled, unmoving heap. Another boy with dark skin - probably the girl’s brother - was curled into a ball on the ground closer to the mouth of the alley, arms above his head in the same position Bucky had found Steve countless times. Three guys towered above him, feet raining down on the poor fella relentlessly as he let out tiny sobbing, pleading noises.

“Get off of him, you assholes!” the girl screamed, stomping forward and grabbing one of the blokes by his collar. She couldn’t have been more than 14 years old and barely came up to the man’s midsection, so it was more like she was dragging him downwards rather than backwards, but it did the trick either way. The man cried out in surprise and sprawled out on his ass, pulling the other two boys’ attention away from the girl’s brother and onto her.

The man that she had pulled to the ground clambered to his feet and whirled on her, his face red with rage. Bucky stepped up quickly before he could take a swing at her and squared his shoulders when all eyes turned to him.

“I think they’ve both learned their lesson, fellas. Why don’t you get goin’ before this takes a nasty turn?”

“Are you threatenin’ us, punk?” the tallest one with the black hair asked, scowling down his nose at Bucky. He was probably nineteen or twenty but Bucky was far from afraid of him. He stared back at the man calmly.

“If that’s how you wanna take it, then sure. But really, I’m just lookin’ out for you. See, it’d be real embarrassing if a 14 year old girl and her 17 year old friend were to send the three of you home cryin’ for your mamas. Wouldn’t it?” Bucky knew his voice had gone cold and dangerous, had witnessed that exact tone send bullies crawling out of alleyways with their tails between their legs, but he also wasn’t naive enough to just _assume_ it’d work.

The three men stared at Bucky like they couldn’t comprehend what he’d just said. And then, when one started laughing, they all did.

“Oh, that’s rich comin’ from you, beanpole,” the other brunette teased, wiping at his eyes like he’d been laughing hard enough to cry. Bucky grinned back, sharp and deadly. Well, Bucky had never minded a fight when it counted. He stepped forward, less than a foot away from the guy who’d been the first to hit the floor.

“Just remember: you insisted,” Bucky said quietly. His mad grin didn’t waver.

And then he punched him in the face.

For a second, Bucky thought he’d be fighting this one solo. He was a good fighter, he knew that, but he hadn’t had much training with more than one adversary and he wasn’t too confident about how this fight would turn out. But, just when he was about to call out for the girl to get her brother and run, she stepped up beside him and clocked the blonde bloke right in the nose, her stance professional.

He blinked over at her and she grinned back, ducking a swing from the one she’d pulled to the ground earlier and then diving into the fray. Bucky shrugged and dove after her. The two of them stood back to back, swinging their fists and lashing out with their legs and lifting their knees between legs. At one point, she called out his name and Bucky turned in time to see a bent metal rod sailing through the air in his direction. He caught it easily and spun, using the momentum to smack the full force of his weight into one of the brunette’s stomach. He doubled forward and Bucky took his chance, grabbing the man’s head to hold it still and then driving his knee up into his face.

The man’s knees hit the ground with a groan and Bucky grinned, flipping the metal rod around his hand and twisting to smack it into the second brunette’s jaw. He spun on the spot with the force of it and then toppled to the ground.

Two minutes later, Bucky and his new friend were watching the three cowards go staggering out of the alley as fast as they could -  which wasn’t actually all that fast, because they were suffering from multiple, painful injuries each. Bucky had only been nailed in the stomach twice and caught a fist with his jaw once which had been more painful for the other guy than him, so it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. The girl was the one he was worried about. He turned to face her and sucked in a sharp breath at her eye that was beginning to swell shut. She merely grinned at him though, spitting blood.

“Thanks, pal. I’m Keira, by the way. Keira Hayes. I moved in above your friend Steve’s apartment a month and a half ago with my brother and my pa,” she explained. Bucky nodded and shook her outstretched hand.

“Nice to meet ya. It ain’t a problem at all, really. I’m used to this.” Keira nodded and opened her mouth to say something, but a low groan cut her off.

“Ethan...,” a deep voice called, crackling with emotion or pain, Bucky couldn’t tell. He turned to see the dark skinned boy literally crawling on his hands and knees to the blonde boy - Ethan - who was lying in an unmoving heap at the end of the alley.

For a dizzying second, the boy looked remarkably like Steve. Bucky felt the air whoosh out of him and distantly heard the sound of the metal rod clattering to the ground. He stared at Ethan with wide, terrified eyes, watching in abject horror as Keira’s brother collapsed at his side. He pulled Ethan into his arms gently, using his shaking fingers to push the tuft of blonde hair from his bloodied face.

“Ethan?” he called quietly. “Ethan? Baby, wake up,” he pleaded, his voice hollow, barely above a whisper. Keira dropped her own metal rod and approached her brother slowly, falling to her knees beside him with a hand to his shoulder. Her other hand reached out to press two fingers to Ethan’s neck. Everything seemed to slow down for a second, the moment stretching on endlessly through time until her voice sliced through the thick fog clouding Bucky’s mind.

“He’s okay, Keiran. He’s alive,” Keira assured her brother gently. Both he and Bucky slumped in relief at the same time, Bucky collapsing against the wall and Keiran doubling forward to touch his forehead ever so lightly to Ethan’s.

“He tried to protect me,” Keiran whispered while Bucky fought to catch his breath. “The stupid idiot tried to _protect me_. He knows I can fight, K! Why would he do this? I don’t understand...”

“He’s white, you’re black,” Bucky heard himself saying before his brain could catch up with him. Both Keira and Keiran looked up at him with matching frowns. “He probably thought he had a more likely chance of surviving than you did. Or he just panicked about you gettin’ hurt. Either way, we oughta move him soon. If those guys come back with back up we’re screwed five ways to next Sunday.”

Keiran’s face twisted up with anxiety and he glanced back down at Ethan.

“Is it a good idea to move him like this?” Bucky sighed and reluctantly pushed away from the wall. He didn’t want to treat this boy like he was Steve. He was already freaked out enough as it was. It was like he had an itch under his skin that only hitting something could allieve. He had too much energy, too much trapped beneath his surface to deal with on his own. He couldn’t shake the image of Steve on the ground, bloodied and unconscious, from his mind. His memory had enough of the horrifying images in its arsenal to supply him with enough gruesome nightmares for the rest of his life without the help of Ethan’s stupid ass.

But Bucky, as much as he sometimes scared himself, was not a complete asshole, and he couldn’t leave the poor boy like this, couldn’t be responsible for his death, directly or indirectly. Which maybe just made him a _selfish_ asshole. He crouched down anyway, gently running his fingers all over Ethan’s skull. He didn’t feel any dents or blood or gashes or anything. Didn’t mean there wasn’t any brain damage, according to Sarah, but it gave him a significantly better chance. He said as much to Keiran and Keira.

“So there’s still a risk,” Keiran confirmed and Bucky sighed, rubbing at his forehead. He’d been in this place before. He’d had to decide if it was safer to move Steve or leave him where he was and...what?

“You don’t really have much of a choice,” he pointed out. “If we leave him here, he’ll die from the cold or his wounds. If we call an ambulance or the cops, they’ll want to know what happened and what will you tell them? Point them in the direction of those assholes who made him like this? They’ll just tell the cops what they saw and they’ll turn a blind eye, maybe haul you two off to an institution.

No, the best choice is to try our luck moving him.”

“Our?” Keira asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Bucky paused for a moment, processing, and then nodded.

“Yeah, ‘our.’ I’ll help get him back to your apartment and patch him up. Steve’s mom’ll probably be willing to come check on him after her shift or sometime in the morning, too.”

“We don’t have any money to pay you,” Keiran informed him, expression solemn. Bucky shrugged and began to maneuver Ethan carefully upright, Keiran moving immediately to help him.

“I don’t think Sarah’ll mind. She became a nurse because she wanted to help people, not because she was lookin’ to get paid. Besides, it shouldn’t be too hard.” Bucky looped one of Ethan’s arms slowly over his shoulders. Keiran gazed on at him with an unreadable expression.

“Thank you,” he said seriously. Bucky blinked at him, taken aback by the sincerity there, and nodded.

“Yeah, no problem, pal.” Keiran nodded back and then draped Ethan’s other arm over his shoulder. They both shifted onto their knees before carefully and slowly getting to their feet. Bucky paused so Keiran could shift Ethan’s head onto his shoulder and then they began the harrowing journey back to the apartment.

Keiran kept their pace even slower than Bucky thought necessary and kept glancing down at Ethan’s legs, making periodic comments about basically dragging him. Bucky was going to tear his hair out. He was already itching to be by Steve’s side, to make sure he was okay, and every excruciating second made the itch worse. Until it was an ache and then a burn and then an all consuming fire. He kept thinking that it was Steve he was dragging, half dead, down the sidewalk. Kept feeling like he was going to burst into tears any second with worry even though he’d never met this boy a day in his life.

The stairs were the trickiest part. They had to take it one step at a time and Bucky was fighting the urge to shove Ethan completely onto Keiran and go sprinting back towards the gym. He didn’t do that though. He got Ethan up the three flights of stairs and into his apartment. He helped Keiran change him into less bloodied clothes while Keira flitted around nervously in the hallway. Then he and Keira attended to the worst of his wounds while Keiran got himself cleaned up.

Ethan was mostly unconscious during the entire ordeal and that worried Bucky a bit, but he decided it was probably best not to say anything. He didn’t want to freak out Keira and Keiran. Keiran already looked frazzled enough when he returned to the room, ignoring Keira’s efforts to inspect his wounds and hovering just behind Bucky as he worked. More than a few times, Bucky had to bite back the urge to snap at him, reminding himself that he would be the same way if this really had been Steve.

When he was finished, the three of those who weren’t invalids congregated in the hallway. Ethan seemed too out of it to really process a complex conversation, but he didn’t want to risk anything.

“Okay, here’s the deal; Sarah’s been teaching me about medicine a bit, but I still don’t know a whole lot. From what I can tell, Ethan should be fine. His wrist and nose are broken and two of his ribs feel fractured, but I don’t think it’s anything that Sarah won’t be able to handle with her personal first aid kit at home. I did what I could - reset the bones in his nose, as you may have heard, and splinted his wrist and wrapped up his ribs - but I’m not an expert so I can’t guarantee that he’ll be okay.”

Keiran wrapped his arms around himself and glanced at the door, scowling deeply. Keira studied her brother and put a hand on his shoulder, her gaze solemn as she met Bucky’s eyes.

“Thank you. Really. For everything. We owe you.” Bucky shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He rocked back on his heels, longing for the safety of Steve in his eyesight more than anything he’d ever longed for before.

“S’no problem,” he assured her.

“I don’t understand,” Keiran said suddenly. Bucky blinked at him in confusion. “Why are you helping us? Why do you even care? Obviously, you know why they were beating up on us. So why would you waste all this time and energy on scum like us?”

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, thoroughly unimpressed by his little spiel.

“I’m queer,” he said shortly, feeling his irritation rising. Now it was Keiran’s turn to stare. Keira sucked in a sharp, startled breath.

“What?” he asked, looking stunned.

“I’m queer,” Bucky repeated.

“Your...queer?” Keiran parroted back to him. Something inside the brunette snapped, his hands bawling into fists at his sides and the muscle beneath his jaw shifting as he clenched his teeth.

“Yes, queer,” he snapped. “As in, I like to suck cock. I enjoy takin’ it up the ass. I like gettin’ down and dirty with other fellas...” He would have said more, but he suddenly remembered that Keira was present and he went bright ride, shooting her a sheepish look. “Sorry,” he muttered. Keira just grinned and shrugged, rolling her eyes.

“It doesn’t bother me, pal,” she assured him. Keiran was still staring at him in shock. Bucky sighed and stabbed his fingers through his hair.

“Listen, I gotta head out. Steve is waitin’ for me at the-”

“Wait,” Keiran said, throwing his hands up. “I still don’t understand why you trusted him, Keira. How did you know he’d be so....relaxed about this?” Keira flushed and glanced away, gnawing on the inside of her cheek.

“I may or may not have seen him and Steve Rogers almost kiss in front of Steve’s apartment...,” she muttered. Bucky stiffened. It didn’t take him long to pinpoint the night she was referring to. His heart raced just at the memory of it.

***

Steve had found him at Johnny’s house. Johnny who had turned 18 last year and moved out of the orphanage to live with his older cousin, Luke, who’d been out of the orphanage for two years but hadn’t had the money to adopt Johnny. Luke often bought alcohol and let his brother have a go at it and the two of them sometimes invited Bucky along, since both Bucky and Johnny worked at the docks. They’d become close friends and even tolerated Steve when he tagged along, even though he rarely drank and killed their buzz sometimes.

That night was one of the nights that Steve decided to be a buzz kill. He’d marched into their house without so much as a knock, ranting about how this was the third time that week and how Bucky was going to kill his liver and die a young death. Bucky’d been able to read the worry behind his rage though and only put up a little bit of a fight before he’d finally caved and followed his friend from the house.

Steve had somehow managed to get a stumbling Bucky to his apartment and propped him up against the wall as he fished his key out - he actually knew where it was for once - and unlocked the door. He was about to push it open when he glanced back to notice Bucky wasn’t making a move to follow.

“You comin’, Buck?”

“Nah. The walk back’ll gimme a clearer head. I’ll see ya ta’marrow, Stevie.” Steve had frowned and closed the door, folding his arms and staring Bucky down.

“Do you think that’s a good idea with the state you’re in?” Bucky shrugged.

“Sure.” Steve scowled.

“Come inside and get in bed, Buck,” he demanded. A catlike grin spread across Bucky’s face and he took two steps towards Steve, crowding him against the door with both hands bracketing him in on either side of his head.

“Why, Stevie,” he’d murmured, dipping his head down until their lips were almost touching. “If ya wanted ta get me into bed so bad, all ya had ta do was ask. I’m at your mercy, Cap’n.” Steve had blinked owlishly up at him, cheeks bright red and sky blue eyes glistening in the dim light of the moon.

“Bucky...,” he’d whispered, voice hoarse and cautious. Bucky’s gaze flickered down to his lips and then back up to his eyes, his grin never slipping. Steve couldn’t seem to tear his own eyes away from Bucky’s mouth, heat and tension thickening the air between them.

And then a door slammed above them and both of them jumped, Bucky leaning slightly away from Steve and dropping one hand. Both of their breaths quickening, they’d listened in terrified silence to see what would happen. Nothing did. No one walked past them or started screaming or throwing things at them. They were safe.

Exhaling explosively, Bucky had leaned down until his forehead bumped gently against Steve’s, eyes closed.

“Sorry,” he whispered, much more sober now than he had been before. “Sorry.” Steve closed his eyes too and reached up to cup the back of Bucky’s neck, thumb stroking soothingly up and down.

“S’okay, Buck. You’re okay.”

“I keep doin’ this. Yer gonna get sick a’ me sooner or later.”

“Nah, it’s too late for that. I’m stuck with ya now. And you’re stuck with me.”

“I ain’t stuck, sweetheart. I’m just your loyal servant. I go where you go, I do what you do. Because I choose to. Because I choose _you_.” Steve opened his eyes and blinked up at Bucky, stunned into silence. Bucky opened his eyes and leaned back a bit to put some space between them, eyes solemn and sincere. Steve cupped Bucky’s face in both hands and pulled him back down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“I choose you too, Bucky. Now and always,” he assured him. Bucky let out a small whimpering noise and wound his arms around the blonde’s waist, tugging him closer and tucking his face into the crook of his neck. Steve wrapped his arms around his friend’s shoulders and hugged him tight, stroking his hair gently and leaning his cheek against his head.

After a while, Steve pulled back and smiled as best as he could managed. “Come on, big guy,” he said. “Let’s get you some water and then some sleep, yeah?”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he slurred. Steve wrapped his fingers around Bucky’s wrist and tugged him inside.

***

“You can’t tell anyone,” Bucky was suddenly snarling, taking a deliberate step towards them. Both Keira and Keiran flinched away from him, which he would have the time to feel bad about later, but at the moment it was working to his advantage.

“I swear to God, if Steve gets hurt...,”

“Slow down, pal,” Keira snapped, straightening up and scowling at him. “Ain’t nobody in this room gonna go off and tattle on you and your boy. Do you really think we’d do that? Knowing what you know about my brother and Ethan? After all you’ve done to help us?” Bucky’s glare didn’t waver.

“His not ‘my boy’ and I don’t know you very well at all. I have no idea what kinda people you are.”

“Well, we’re not the type to stab people in the back. We won’t tell anyone about you or Steve,” Keiran snapped back. They were both looking personally affronted. Bucky stared them down for a moment more and then sighed, shoulders slumping as he eased back a step. He rubbed at his forehead in an attempt to quell his oncoming headache.

“I’m sorry. I’m all wound up. Ethan reminded me of Steve and I’m still pretty shaken up about that and I’m worried about Steve because he’s waitin’ for me at the gym and I don’t know how or if those assholes are gonna retaliate and I’m...I’m sorry.” Keira and Keiran shared a glance and then Keira stepped forward, gently touching Bucky’s elbow.

“Why don’t you go get Steve, do whatever it is you were plannin’ on doin’. Keiran and I can hold down the fort. You’ve done more than enough for us.” Bucky hesitated a moment and then nodded.

“Yeah...yeah, okay. We’ll be at the rink for maybe another hour or so and then we’ll head back to hang out at Steve’s apartment. I’ll stop by before I go meet Steve though and leave a note for Sarah, give her the lowdown on what’s happening. Don’t worry, I won’t tell her about you bein’ queer. Just that you got in a fight. If you need anything at all, I’ll be at either one of those places. Don’t hesitate to come get me.”

“We won’t,” Keira assured him, smiling warmly. She really was beautiful. Bucky wished, not for the first time, that he could be into dames like that, like the way he pretended. “Thanks again, Buck. This means the world to us.” Keiran nodded vigorously in agreement.

“Yeah, buddy. I dunno what we would’a done without you,” he agreed. Bucky gave them the best version of his warmest smile that he could manage and squeezed Keira’s hand, clapping Keiran on the shoulder twice.

“It wasn’t a problem at all. That’s what I’d want someone to do for Steve and I. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta go make sure he hasn’t gotten his punk ass in trouble. I’ll come by to check on ya later. Put some ice on that eye, Keira. And Keiran, let her patch you up,” Bucky ordered, forgetting himself for the moment. By the time he realized it was maybe a bit rude to boss them around like that, the door was closed and he was already halfway down the stairs.

Despite having settled things with the siblings, Bucky’s mood hadn't improved. The longer it took him to write out the note to Sarah and get to the rink, the more keyed up he got until he was as panicky as he’d been at the alley. He needed to hit something, to release this anger some way somehow before he lost his mind.

He tore the gym door open and burst inside, glancing around for Steve. He wasn't anywhere to be seen and he hadn't been in the apartment either. Which meant he was probably out on the streets, looking for Bucky. Growling and turning to sprint back out of the building, Bucky was suddenly pulled short by the sound of Frank’s voice.

“Oh! Bucky! Steve and I were gettin’ worried about ya! He just went into the locker room so he could change to go look for ya. I was even gonna go with him.” Bucky sighed and slumped with relief. Not only was it nice to know that Frank had both their backs, Bucky was also glad Steve hadn't had the chance to leave yet. It was a miracle in and of itself that he'd waited so long.

“Thanks, Frankie,” Bucky said with a wide smile that didn't quite touch his eyes, shooting him a sloppy salute as he made his way past.

Inside the locker room, Steve was just pulling his shirt down over his head and Bucky’s eyes couldn’t help but linger on the exposed patch of pale skin until it disappeared under his white tank. When Bucky finally managed to drag his eyes up to Steve’s face, he was staring at Bucky in surprise, hand paused halfway towards his locker where Bucky assumed he’d get his button down.

“Buck?” Steve asked, frowning in concern as he took a step towards his friend. “Are you all right? I was worried about you.” Something about what he said, or maybe it was the _way_ he said it, made Bucky’s heart trip over several beats. He was suddenly so angry and so panicked.

Sure, Steve had been making progress with his fighting and he was getting pretty good, for a boney little guy with no muscle to him whatsoever. But Bucky knew it wasn't near enough to keep him alive if he wasn't there to have his back. And what if Frank hadn't decided to go with Steve and let him go searching for the brunette on his own? Steve wouldn't have had anyone to help him or drag him out of a fight. Bucky would have been too preoccupied with helping the Hayes siblings and Ethan.

And one day, there might be too many guys for Bucky to take on his own. He'd need help, back up, from someone else who could hold their own. Steve wasn't there yet and it wasn't like Bucky resented him for it or anything, but he worried. Ceaselessly. Steve could get killed and there wasn't anything Bucky could do about it, just like when he got sick.

Except that wasn't exactly the case. Bucky could teach Steve how to fight and defend himself. He could push Steve harder, train him more often, prepare him thoroughly for any deadly situation he might be put into. This was one thing he could take care of.  

Bucky grabbed the shirt Steve wore when they were practicing and shoved into his arms.

“Get dressed.”

“Buck, I already went through drills and stuff with Frank, I-”

“Just get dressed, Steve. We’re not done. I have stuff to show you.”

“Bucky, you’re not my...I don’t know, but you’re not in charge of me, okay? I’m done for today.”

“Put the damn shirt on, Rogers,” Bucky snarled, turning on him with a menacing glower that didn’t intimidate Steve so much as confuse and worry him. Nevertheless, Bucky slumped when he realized what he’d done. He put a hand on Steve’s shoulder and stared him solemnly in the eyes.

“Please, put the damn shirt on,” he said, a little more softly. Steve scrutinized him for a moment and then sighed and complied with Bucky’s demands. Whatever had kept him, whatever he’d seen, clearly this was something he needed.

“All right, fine,” he grumbled and set the shirt to the side so he could peel off the tank. Bucky turned to change into his own workout clothes, ignoring the way his hands trembled and the bemused looks kept shooting his way.

“Buck, seriously-” he started, but Bucky slammed his locker door to interrupt him and sat down to lace up his shoes. Steve made a sort of growling noise of frustration. “Where were you?” he demanded, refusing to let it go. Bucky sighed and glowered at him.

“Later, Steve. Just hurry up,” he snapped. They continued to glare at each other for a long moment before Steve finally rolled his eyes and sat down next to him. They both laced up their shoes, taped up, and shoved their gloves on before hurrying out to the rink.

Frank raised a surprised eyebrow when he saw the two of them come stomping out of the locker room, glowering and irritated. Bucky ducked under the ropes to the rink and held them up for Steve and then stepped towards the center, fixing the straps of the pads with his teeth. When he glanced up, Steve was settling into his stance, raising his fists and looking generally put out.

“C’mon, Stevie. That’s the sloppiest damn stanec I’ve ever seen.” Steve blinked at him for a moment, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard, and then scowled as he fixed his stance.

“Jesus, Buck, what is wrong with you today?” Bucky squeezed his eyes shut for half a second and shook his head to clear it, opening his eyes again and trying his best to look apologetic.

“Sorry, I’m sorry. Why don’t we start with set two this time, huh?” Steve eyed him dubiously for a moment and then nodded. Bucky held up the pads and settled into his own stance. The tap tap tapping of Steve’s gloved fists slamming into the pads soon filled the rink.

Steve scowled in concentration, his golden blonde hair falling into his eyes. Bucky stared at his eyes like chips of the summer sky and imagined them dead and lifeless, staring unseeingly into oblivion. He imagined his life without Steve; who he would be if the little punk suddenly wasn’t around anymore. A spark of panic seized his heart, making his chest feel tight, and he swiped the pad outwards, cuffing a startled looking Steve over the head.

It wasn’t hard enough to make him fall on his ass, but it was enough that he staggered to the side and clutched at the side of his head.

“What the fuck?” Steve spat at him, glowering. “I’m already half deaf in that ear, you dumbass. Are you trying to make me certifiable?” Bucky glared back.

His only answer was, “You should’ve been able to block that.” Steve stared at him like he’d gone insane.

“That wasn’t part of the set!”

“You need to be able to predict the unexpected. Some thugs beatin’ you up in an alley ain’t gonna follow the sets, Stevie. Do it again.” He held the pads up and didn’t let his expression weaver. Steve continued to stare at him for a long moment and then slowly dragged himself back into stance, repeating the set. This time, Bucky let him go a little longer before he reached out to swat at him again, with the other hand than the one he’d used before.

Steve failed to dodge once more.

“Again,” Bucky snapped. Steve pushed himself off of the ropes, a determined set to his jaw, and tried again. This time Bucky tried to hit him a bit sooner than before. Steve seemed to see it coming and tried to duck, but didn’t quite make it.

“Again,” Bucky repeated. “We’ll keep doing this until you can dodge every time.” Steve was breathing a little faster and his chest was beginning to feel tight, but he refused to say anything, instead moving back into stance and going for the set again.

“Again,” Bucky said a moment later.

Steve tried again.

“Again.”

“C’mon, Stevie. You can do better than this. Again.”

“Again.”

“Dammit, Rogers. Again.”

“ _Again_.”

“Again!”

This time though, Steve didn’t push himself off of the ropes. He tried to suck in a breath but the air refused to enter his lungs. He gasped and wheezed, slumping to his knees. Bucky stared in mute shock, eyes wide and pads still held up, frozen in his horror. Still gasping for breath, Steve struggled with his gloves, trying to rip them off with his teeth. Bucky blinked hard and shook his head to clear it. He dropped to his knees next to his friend and used his teeth to loosen the straps for his pads, fumbling them off.

“Sit up straight, sweetheart,” he said gently, forgetting himself in his panic and the guilt overpowering him like a tidal wave. Steve coughed and sat up as straight as he could manage, his breath becoming increasingly more labored. Bucky helped him remove the gloves, discarding them haphazardly over his shoulder. He rested his hand against Steve’s chest.

“Breathe for me, Stevie. In for seven, hold for four, out for seven, just like always,” he whispered, his heart clenching tightly. He demonstrated the breathing exercise that the two of them had practiced a thousand times before and Steve did his best to copy him. The blonde tried his hardest to convey with his eyes that he wasn’t mad at Bucky, though he guessed the look came across more confused than reassuring, because Bucky just shook his head and demonstrated how to breathe again.

“Should I make tea?” Frank asked, hovering with a solemn expression. Bucky couldn’t meet his eyes. It was more than likely that he’d watched the entire thing and new that it was Bucky’s fault this was happening. But he did mutter, “yeah, that’d be real helpful. Thanks.” He watched Frank nod and disappear behind his bar from the corner of his eye, his gaze locked on the zit on Steve’s forehead. He couldn’t look Steve in the eyes either as he breathed with him.

By the time Frank returned with Steve’s tea, his breathing still wasn’t under control. This was one of his worse attacks, the one where he had to take the very limited supply of medicine that they had stored at the apartment. These were the types of situations that the medicine was only allowed to be used for. But, again, it was back at the apartment.

Taking Steve out into this weather, especially in the thin amount of clothing he was wearing, was a really bad idea. His sharp, short ragged breathing was just invitation for some sort of illness. And the common cold could be fatal to Steve under the right conditions. Bucky could always change him and bundle him up before they left, but it would take too long and Steve’s lips were already starting to turn blue. Bucky cursed and bumped his forehead gently against Steve’s. His eyes were beginning to droop like he were about to pass out. Bucky bit back tears.

“Frank,” he called, ignoring the way his voice crackled. “Could you get my and Steve’s jackets, please?”

“Sure, a’ course, Buck.” Frank practically sprinted to and from the locker room, thrusting the jackets to Bucky before he’d even made it halfway back to the rink. Bucky caught them, pleased to see gloves and a scarf had been included.

“Okay, sweetheart, it looks like we’re gonna have to get you home and take that medicine,” Bucky explained as he guided Steve’s arms into jacket. “You’re gonna be just fine. Just keep trying to take deep breaths, okay?” He tried to put his jacket on Steve, but the blonde began to shake his head, trying to push it towards Bucky.

“Hey, don’t you worry about me. I ain’t the one havin’ an asthma attack. I’ll be okay for the walk to the apartment. Just lemme bundle you up. Please?” After a short pause, Steve nodded reluctantly and let Bucky guide him into the jacket. He buttoned up Steve’s jacket, sloppily wrapped his scarf around his neck, tied it into a knot, buttoned his jacket up over it, and then glanced down to see that Frank was already helping Steve into his gloves. Bucky forced himself to smile at the man gratefully and then slid out beneath the ropes.

He held them up with one hand and hooked his free arm around Steve’s waist, dragging him to the edge of the rink and helping him down. He sagged against Bucky’s side and Bucky tightened his grip, pausing to let Frank tuck a cap onto Steve’s head.

“You come by and let me know how he’s doin’ tomorrow, ya hear me Barnes?” Frank called after them as Bucky hurried Steve along as fast as he dared. Bucky nodded.

“Of course, Frankie. I’ll see ya tomorrow,” he yelled back and let the door swing closed behind him.

For a while, he and Steve hobbled along at a painfully slow rate, but Bucky quickly lost his patience with it. He scooped Steve up into the marriage cradle, damning everyone else’s opinions straight to hell. He dared anyone to try and fight him while he was this keyed up. And anyway, most people were still in mass.

With Steve in his arms, he was able to move much faster than before, no longer hindered by Steve’s inability to breathe. Bucky wasn’t sure how he was supposed to open the door when he got there though. It would obviously be locked and his key was stuffed into his pants’ pocket back at the rink. Even if he did have his key, he wouldn’t be able to put Steve down to fish it out anyway, or to get the key underneath the brick. Sarah would either be asleep or up at the Hayes’ apartment, checking Ethan over.

He suddenly wished with a vicious fury that he’d left the two of them to rot in that alleyway. None of them, even combined, were worth losing Steve. Every erratic, gasping puff of breath against the side of Bucky’s neck had his heart skipping over several beats.

At the apartment, he ended up having to set Steve down on the ground, propped up against the wall, to get the key from beneath the brick and unlock the door. He pushed the door open, tossing the key carelessly inside, and then hefted Steve back into his arms. Kicking the door closed behind him, he set the asthmatic gently on the couch, brushing the hair from his eyes as he sprinted off down the hallway.

In the bathroom, he tore the medicine cabinet apart, tossing boxes and bottles of medicine into the sink beneath him and onto the floor as he searched frantically for the syrupy medicine. When his fingers closed around it, he dashed back down the hallway to find Steve slumped against the couch on his side, eyes closed. He felt bile crawl up his throat and swallowed it back down, wincing at the awful taste. He didn’t have time to throw up.

He dropped to his knees at Steve’s side and turned him carefully on his back, tipping his head back and parting his lips for him. Bucky unscrewed the lid to the medicine with trembling fingers and measured out the syrup into the lid, pouring it carefully down Steve’s throat. He closed his mouth and pinched his nose, forcing the blonde to swallow and then quickly removed his hand.

After a moment, Steve coughed and heaved air into his lungs. Bucky sighed and slumped with relief. He grabbed at Steve’s hand, lifting it up to press a kiss to his knuckles. Still clutching his hand tightly, Bucky let his forehead drop onto Steve’s shoulder, feeling hot tears stream down his cheeks and covering his mouth with his free hand as he choked on a sob.

“Steve? Bucky” Sarah’s voice called in a panic about ten minutes later. She must have been coming back from visiting the Hayes’ apartment and seen the open door. Bucky was too emotionally drained from the panic and fear to lift his head or respond, shoulders shaking as he fought to smother his sobs. He knew the exact moment Sarah found him.

“Oh, my,” she gasped. Bucky winced and tightened his grip on Steve’s hand. “Bucky, what happened?” Bucky simply shook his head and sniffled, leaning back on his heels and using the heel of his hand to rub the tears away.

“Did he get into another fight?” Sarah asked quietly. Bucky shook his head and took a deep breath, finding the strength to reply.

“I...I pushed him too hard at training today. He had an asthma attack and I guess the weather wasn’t helpin’. It was real bad, so I had to hurry him home and give him his medicine,” he answered, his voice sounding monotone even to himself.

“Oh, Bucky,” Sarah murmured, laying her hand on his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, darling.” Bucky winced away from her at that and shrugged her hand off of him. He released Steve’s hand to screw the cap back on the medicine and tuck it into his pocket.

“I’ll take Steve back to his room and then clean up the bathroom,” he said forlornly, standing and scooping Steve back into his arms, arranging him so he’d be comfortable.

“Clean the bathroom?” Sarah questioned as she trailed him back to Steve’s room.

“I made somethin’ of a mess tryin’ to find his meds.” Bucky set Steve down on top of the covers and untied his shoelaces, tugging his shoes gently off his feet and setting them neatly on the floor next to the door. He untied the string of the shorts Steve used to practice in and slid a hand under his back, lifting him up gently and pulling the shorts down. Sarah politely turned around from where she stood in the doorway.

“I can see that now. You must have had quite a panic. I’m sorry you had to go through that on your own, Magic Man.” Bucky scowled at the nickname. He wasn’t feeling so magic at the moment. Or much like a man, for that matter.

He ignored the dark thoughts and helped Steve into his pajama pants, the warmer of the two pair he actually owned. Then he moved on to loosen the scarf around his neck and tug it off, letting it drop in a pool of grey fabric to the floor. He then unbuttoned both of the jackets and then sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling Steve into a sitting position, leaning him against Bucky’s chest so he could maneuver him out of the two jackets and the tank he’d been wearing. He pulled a long sleeved shirt down over his head and left his socks on, tucking him beneath the blankets and making sure he was comfortable.

“I’m sorry, Stevie,” he whispered, cupping Steve’s cheek with one hand and brushing his thumb along his cheekbone softly. Steve turned his head in his sleep and snuffled into Bucky’s palm, shifting his whole body so he was on his side as though to curl around him. Bucky removed his hand with great reluctance and couldn’t help but to lean forward and kiss the corner of his mouth as he noticed the blue fading from his lips.

He realized too late how that might look to Sarah and jerked upright to look at her over his shoulder with wide eyes. Luckily, she was nowhere to be seen. He relaxed slightly and sighed, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. Today was just not his day for smart decision making.

Grumbling to himself, he stood and cast one more glance at Steve before shuffling out of the room. He heard puttering around in the bathroom and crossed the hall to see Sarah picking up all the medicine and placing them on the counter of the sink from where she knelt on the floor. Bucky flushed bright red with shame and tucked his hands into his pockets.

“I said I’d clean it up,” he muttered. Sarah paused to look up at him and smiled softly.

“Well, you were doing such a good job taking care of my sweet boy, this was the least I could do,” she assured him. Bucky scowled.

“I’m the whole reason he had a stupid asthma attack in the first place.” Sarah regarded him for a moment with those calculating eyes of her.

She and Steve both had a habit of staring into a person’s soul, of making people feel like they were rooting around in the core of a person and pulling forward everything they were ashamed of for cold examination. Just one steady glance from either of them, and you wanted to collapse to your knees, confess all your sins and beg for apology. Because who was God when a Rogers was disappointed in you?

Bucky remembered thinking Sarah and Steve were angels sent down from Heaven to observe and judge the common folk of Brooklyn. He had this theory that God had sent angels down to every city in the world for the same exact reason, so that he could get reports about how everyone was doing. Sometimes - like when he found Steve fighting yet another bully in a dark alley or when he saw Sarah pausing in the street to give the loose change she couldn’t afford to spare to a homeless man - he still thought that might be the case. And he always felt so privileged to be graced with their love and affection almost every day.

“Now, Bucky, you know I don’t believe that for a second.” She scooped the last box of medicine and climbed to her feet. Bucky stared at her incredulously.

“What do you mean you don’t believe that? I pushed him too hard at the rink and he had an asthma attack. It’s my fault.”

“You and I both know that Steve Rogers will never do anything that he doesn’t want to do. He knows his limits and he could have just as much told him to go easy on him as you could’ve made the call on his own,” she defended as she began to place the medicine back into the cabinet.

“Yeah, well, we both _also_ know that Steve will never willingly admit to weakness unless it’ll get someone else hurt.” Sarah thought this over for a moment and then smiled fondly and nodded a little.

“That’s very true, but I still don’t blame you, Bucky. You didn’t do it intentionally and Steven is just as much at fault here, as far as I’m concerned. Don’t beat yourself up over this.” Bucky just shook his head and held out the asthma medicine for her. She took it with a grateful smile and then paused when she noticed his expression. She slumped a little, looking exasperated. “I’m wasting my breath, though, aren’t I?”

Bucky smiled ruefully and shrugged a little. Sarah sighed and shook her head, patting his cheek as she turned back to the cabinet.

“Well, I’m gonna head back to get our stuff from the rink. I’ll see you in a bit, Sarah.”

“Okay, Magic Man. Be careful.”

“Always am.”

***

Steve woke up the next morning to a sharp ache in his throat and the sound of voices in the hall. He swallowed a groan - which, for the record, hurt more than actually groaning would have - and tried his best to hear what was being said.

“...him yourself, Bucky,” came his ma’s exasperated whisper.

“I told you, Sarah; it’s my fault he had the asthma attack in the first place. I just wanted to check on him so I could update Frank on my way to work.” There was a slight pause and then a heavy sigh, probably from his mom.

“Well, I went in to check on him last night before bed and his cheeks were real flushed, so I checked him and he does have a fever. His tonsils are swollen and there are white spots on them, so I think he probably has strep.” Well, that would explain the sore throat. Now he just needed an explanation for why Bucky was being such a hardass yesterday and then he’d be good.

“Strep?!” Bucky hissed, outraged.

“More than likely. The cold on top of the asthma attack wasn’t doin’ him any favors.”

“Will he...he won’t die, right?”

“Oh, heavens, no. Strep won’t kill him. It’ll take him a little longer to get better than most without medicine, but if we keep him inside and tend to him, I’m sure he’ll be fine. It’ll just be a few days before I let him do a lot of talking.” There was another pause and then Bucky spoke up again.

“All right, good. Good. I’ll...I’m gonna head to work. I’ll see you later, Sarah. Thanks for this.”

“You’re welcome, Bucky. Are you coming by for dinner tonight?”

“Uh...nah, I better eat at the orphanage tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

“James...”

“I’ll see you later, Sarah.” Another heavy sigh.

“All right. Tomorrow then.” The only response was the front door silently closing. Steve rolled his eyes and sat up, wincing a bit. His whole body was achy and he had a bit of a headache, but he’d live, as his mother had said.

Speaking of his ma, she appeared in the doorway, eyebrows going up in surprise to see him awake and sitting up.

“Good morning, sunshine. How’re you feeling?” she asked, perching on the edge of his bed. Steve shrugged.

“Been better,” he admitted, his voice a croak that had his ma wincing in sympathy.

“I suspect you have been. Strep is my least favorite. I’ve had it twice and each time, I’ve wished for the flu. How about I make you some tea then? That always helped me.” Steve smiled gratefully and nodded.

“Sure.” Sarah patted his leg and leaned forward to kiss his cheek as she stood. Steve caught her sleeve just as she was turning to walk away. She looked back at him and raised an eyebrow in question.

“How bad is it?” Steve asked, bracing himself. Sarah immediately knew what he was talking about. She sighed and ran her fingers through Steve’s hair, pushing it back from where it had been sticking to his forehead with sweat.

“He’s beatin’ himself up real bad this time around. I suspect you’ll have to go seek him out yourself once you’re feelin’ better, knock some sense into that stubborn head of his.” Steve nodded, looking thoughtful as he released her sleeve.

“All right. I’ll go after lunch,” he decided. Sarah stared at him like he’d grown a second head and a third eye.

“Steven Grant Rogers, you will do no such thing. You are not leaving this bed except to use the bathroom until you are in perfect health,” she snapped sternly. Steve went wide eyed.

“But, ma! I can’t let Bucky go around givin’ himself a hard time for however long it takes me to get better!”

“You can and you will. Look, Steve, I want Bucky to feel bad about himself about as much as you do, but you’re health comes first, and there’s no way I’m lettin’ you out in that cold while you’re this sick. To be quite frank, I would forbid you from going outside in this weather when you’re healthy if I knew you’d listen to me. But this time, you _will_ listen to me. Am I understood?”

The two Rogers’ stared each other down for a long moment and then Steve huffed and slammed his head back down onto the pillow, rolling to his side so his back was to his mother. Sarah rolled her eyes.

“Well?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve groused. Shaking her head, Sarah headed to the kitchen to make him some tea.

Steve spent the next three days in bed, sketching and only getting up to use the restroom as his mother had instructed. He drank his weight’s worth of tea almost every day, as it was the only thing that soothed his aching throat, and only forced himself to eat when his ma or Mrs. Norton were around to make him do it, watching him like hawk the whole time.

Every morning when his mother got home, he would tell her he was going to go talk to Bucky and she would tell him to shut up and go back to sleep. Which he did, but only because she kept threatening to ground him from seeing Bucky for two weeks. The thought made him feel sicker than strep throat, so he thought himself wise to do as she said.

That first evening, Sarah had just said goodbye before she left for her shift (“ _yes_ , ma, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Mrs. Norton and Mr. Kent’ll come check on me. Go to work already.”) when she had wandered back into his room. Steve was about to reassure her yet again that he was fine when he noticed she was staring down at a bottle of medicine and a couple of coins in her hand. Steve stared at them for a second and felt anger heating up his face.

“Bucky,” he said. Or rather, he growled.

“He paid for it this time, Stevie. That’s what the note said,” Sarah murmured, looking up at him with wide eyes. She never stopped being surprised by how breathtakingly in love with her son Bucky was. Sometimes she wondered how on earth Steve could miss it.

“There’s a note?” he’d asked. Sarah nodded and fished it out of her jacket pocket, holding it out to him. Steve unfolded it and scowled at the words.

_Don’t worry. I paid this time._

_\- B_

“Idiot,” Steve muttered and thrust the paper back out to his ma. Sarah shook her head and put it back in her pocket, administering the medicine and putting in the bathroom cabinet before officially heading out to work.

The whole three days were torture in and of themselves. He alternated between being irritated with Bucky for always blaming everything on himself and panicking about whether or not he was mad at Steve. I mean, he’d been awful rude and brooding during practice the other day. It wasn’t that he blamed Bucky or was mad at him for pushing him so hard, but he thought Bucky might’ve been able to go about it a better way and it _was_ completely out of character for him.

Steve knew if he kept turning it over in his brain, he’d drive himself nuts, so he did his best to keep his mind distracted when he wasn’t sleeping. He did a lot of sketching, but more often than not they turned into absent minded sketches of Bucky when he’d totally meant to draw a willow tree, so he tried reading instead and doing the homework Jamie brought over.

Jamie was another good distraction. He knew Steve couldn’t talk without it being painful, so he would sit cross legged with his homework at the foot of Steve’s bed and rambled about his day as he worked through math problems. Steve’s ma would never let him stay for long though before she was shooing him out the door, with instructions to be careful. She was so paranoid about getting other people sick and Steve couldn’t blame her.

On the fourth day, he woke up without a sore throat or an ache in his bones. His ma was already asleep for the day, passed out on top of the covers in her bed like she’d been too tired to change, which was probably the case. Steve scribbled a note on the corner of a sketch of the pond where he and Bucky usually spent there Sunday evenings telling Sarah that his fever had broken and he was feeling loads better, dressed in his warmest clothes, shoved his cap down over his head, and slipped out of the apartment.

He had just finished locking the door up behind him and was slipping the key into his pocket when he turned to see a dark skinned girl standing at the end of the stairs that lead up to the next level, staring at him with startling bright blue eyes for someone of that skin tone.

“Uh...,” he muttered eloquently, as was his usual response to pretty girls staring him down. He had to admit, he was a little surprised someone like her was staring him down like that. He didn’t have anything against black folk, but they usually averted their gazes and walked faster whenever they saw him. It was unusual to be approached by one so forwardly.

“You’re Steve Rogers, right?” she asked. Steve blinked in surprise.

“Uhm...yes?”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I’m, er...I’m sure.”

“You and Barnes get in a fight?” Steve frowned.

“Well...I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”

“He hasn’t been around since he came to check on us two days ago. I figured since you two are stuck at the hip that somethin’ musta happened.”

“He...came to check on you?” Steve was a little more than confused. The girl frowned at him deeply.

“He ain’t tell you about us?” Steve shook his head. “He helped my brother and his...friend out the other day. They were gettin’ beat up real bad, so he helped me fight ‘em off. Ethan was in real bad shape though, so he patched him up and came to check on him the other day. He was real shaken though. Thought he got in a fight with you.”

“Weird...I don’t know why he wouldn’t tell me about that...”

“He ashamed to hang out with black folk?” Steve snorted.

“Uh, no. It’s not that.”

“Well, I know he don’t care that my brother is queer.” Steve jerked so hard he hit the back of his head on the door.

“You...you’re... _what_?” Steve screeched, eyes wide. The girl rolled her eyes.

“I know you don’t care about that neither.”

“I...you... _how_?” Steve appeared to have reverted back to monosyllables. Lovely.

“I saw the two of ya almost kiss. Don’t sweat it; I won’t tell anyone. ‘Specially not after what Bucky did for us.” Steve stared for a long moment, his heart thudding in his chest, and then swallowed and took a deep breath.

“Well, I suppose that would explain the bruise on his jaw...” The girl nodded distractedly for a moment and then stepped forward, thrusting her hand out.

“I’m Keira, by the way. Keira Hayes.”

“Oh, uh, nice to meet ya, Keira,” Steve murmured, shaking her hand.

“Same to you. Tell Bucky thanks again next time ya see him. Pop by and see us whenever, the both of ya.” She tossed a wave over her shoulder and then flounced back up the stairs. Steve remained frozen against the door and stared after her until the door slamming had him jerking from his thoughts with a shake of his head. He shoved the conversation into the back of his head to deal with it at a later date. Right now, he had to find Bucky.

It was just a little before lunch when Steve had left the house, so he knew Bucky would still be down at the docks. So, he took a right and headed in the direction of the smell of fish and salt, hands stuffed into his pockets. By the time he got there, it was lunch time, and Bucky was crowded around a stack of crates that he and a bunch of his co-workers were using as a table as they ate. At Bucky’s right was William Chambers, the boy that had sometimes played with the two of them when they were younger and whom they still considered a friend, and on his left was Johnny Davis, who was Bucky’s usual alcohol supplier and who Steve would always feel a bitterness about as a result. All three of them were laughing and leaning into each other, messily eating their sandwiches and drinking their water.

Steve always hated coming to the docks. He felt inadequate around them, which wasn’t exactly a new feeling, but which was somehow worse here, at the place where Bucky worked to pay for his medicine and his doctor bills and that he occasionally left to help Sarah pay for rent when he knew they were struggling. That had always felt like Steve’s job, but he could never get the work to provide like his father had and Bucky had to do it instead. Coming to this place was always a sharp reminder of this and made him feel weak, frail...unworthy.

He approached the make-shift table cautiously, fidgeting nervously and waiting for Bucky to notice him. The brunette was too caught up in listening to a clearly exaggerated tale that Eric Morris was telling, waving his big hands around with eyes bright with excitement. Steve was about to clear his throat to get Bucky’s attention when Johnny caught sight of his, a huge grin stretching across his face. Steve stiffened, his hackles rising in response.

“Well, would ya look at that! It’s Little Tike, come to see us at last! Where ya been, Stevie? It’s been ages!” he shouted. Steve couldn’t help his scowl, no matter how many times Bucky had given him the Be Nice speech.

“Don’t call me that, Johnny,” he grumbled, shooting Bucky a look. Bucky was refusing to look at him, munching pointedly at his sandwich. Steve curled his hands into fists inside his pockets to resists smacking him upside the back of his head.

“Don’t call ya what? Little Tike or Stevie?”

“Both,” Steve growled.

“But where have you _been_ , Rogers?” Will asked, grinning and standing to pull him into a hug. “I haven’t seen ya since I had to drop outta school!” Steve didn’t hug back, instead allowing it to happen to him with his back held ramrod straight. Will, as usual, was not perturbed by this, pulling back to clap him on the shoulder and grin down at him.

Steve shrugged at him. “I’ve been around.”

“Well, what brought ya ‘round to our humble docks?” Tyler Jackson asked, blowing smoke from his cigarette into Steve’s face as he leaned forward. Steve wrinkled his nose and swiped his hands through the air. He parted his lips to respond but Bucky didn’t give him the chance.

“C’mon, Jackson, you asshole. He’s got asthma. Put that damn thing out, would ya?”

“Cool it, Barnes. A little bit a’ smoke ain’t gonna do ‘im no harm,” Tyler drawled in that lazy way of his, leaning back in his chair like he didn’t have a care in the world. Bucky scowled at him.

“Jackson, so help me God, if he has an asthma attack...,”

“Bucky, lay off. I’m fine.” Bucky glanced up at him and huffed, rolling his eyes and shoving the last of his sandwich into his mouth. Steve rolled his eyes back at him and glanced around the table.

“You fellas mind if I borrow Bucky for a second?” he asked, though his face clearly portrayed that he was merely being polite for Bucky’s sake and actually gave zero fucks about whether or not they minded. They all grinned at him like wolves and Steve resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably.

“Why, of course, not Mrs. Barnes. We don’t mind at all,” Eric teased and Steve willed himself not to go bright red. Bucky stiffened in his chair beside him.

“Go ahead, tend to your wifey, Barnes,” Johnny said, cackling as he dug his elbow into Bucky’s side. Bucky scowled one of his more menacing scowls and shoved Johnny’s head away from him as he pushed himself to his feet.

“Fuck off, the lot of ya,” Bucky said, waving his middle finger around as he turned to lead Steve to a secluded area.

“Now, James! Is that anyway to behave in front of a lady?!” Tyler shouted. Bucky froze for a moment and Steve groaned, dropping his head into his hand. Bucky turned, lightning fast, and grabbed the back of Tyler’s chair, tipping it back so he was dangling over the edge of the docks. If Bucky removed his hand, Tyler’d go toppling into the freezing water. He let out a very undignified yelping sound and tried to grasp at Bucky’s sleeve, but the brunette merely batted his hands away and leaned down until their faces were mere inches apart.

“Say somethin’ else, smartass, and I’ll dump you in this goddamn water. I hear hypothermia ain’t real fun. Even heard some people die from it. Sure would be a shame, wouldn’t it?” It got so quiet you could have heard a fly pass gas. Steve looked up and shot Bucky a withering look that he either didn’t notice or had elected to ignore.

“Jeez, Barnes, okay! I’m sorry! Calm down, why don’t ya?” Bucky hesitated a moment and then righted the chair, brushing imaginary lint off of Tyler’s shoulder in a further show of dominance and then sauntered off, tugging at Steve’s sleeve as he passed to encourage him to follow. Steve glanced back at the stunned group of men and shrugged, rolling his eyes and jerking his thumb back at Bucky as though to say, “can you believe this guy? What a doof,” before he followed after him.

As soon as they rounded the corner, he smacked Bucky over the back of the head.

“What the hell?” he demanded through gritted teeth. Bucky rubbed the back of his head and glared at him.

“What?” he asked sulkily. Steve growled and punched him in the shoulder.

“You know what, jerk! First you act like an asshole at the rink the other day, then you don’t come see me while I’m sick but have the audacity to leave medicine at my house, then I find out you neglected to tell me you got in a fight, and now you’re nearly dumping assholes into the ocean on my behalf! What the hell is goin’ on with you?!” Steve was doing his best to keep his voice down, but it was getting increasingly harder not to shout.

Bucky sighed and stabbed his fingers through his hair, beginning to pace back and forth in front of Steve. Steve tracked his movements with his arms folded, growing increasingly irritated as the seconds passed without a single response.

“Bucky!” he hissed in exasperation after two full minutes had passed.

“He looked like you,” Bucky snapped, finally coming to a stop with his hands balled into fists at his side. He was facing the building, glaring at it with every ounce of rage inside him. Steve blinked at him in confusion.

“What?”

“He looked like you. There was this boy who was gettin’ beat up. Him and his boyfriend. Their sister came to find me cuz she knew I was...you know...and that I might would help them. So I did and one of the boys, Ethan, he looked a bit like you. Well...not really, but all I saw was the blonde hair at first and I...I don’t know, it just freaked me out. I got to thinkin’ that one day I might not be around to save your ass, like that time with Daniel, except that time you might _die_ and then where would I be?!”

“You’d be fine, Buck,” Steve said shortly, still pissed and still glaring. “You’d be sad for a while, but then you’d move on and you’d be fine.” Bucky finally looked up at him, eyes wide and outraged.

“ _Fine_?” Bucky near shouted and Steve shushed him, glancing around even though they weren’t really talking about anything incriminating. “You think I’d be _fine_?! Steve, what the fuck do you think it is that you are to me?” he demanded, his face red with his rage. Steve felt the implications of what he was saying and blinked up at him in surprise.

“I...what?” he muttered, feeling lost and much smaller than he usually did. Bucky’s face softened so suddenly, Steve felt like he maybe had whiplash. He stepped forward and took Steve’s face gently in both his hands, both their hearts pounding too fast for them to care who might see.

“Steven Grant Rogers, you are my _everything_ , do you understand me? Ever since we met, I’ve been trying to stress to you that if anything ever happened to you, I would die. I would just...I’d lay down that night and never get up again. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

Steve reached up and curled his fingers around Bucky’s wrists. He had every intention of pulling his hands away but ended up stroking his thumbs along the insides of his wrists instead, mouthing gaping as he struggled for something to say.

“I love you, Steve,” Bucky whispered and Steve’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“I...I...I...” Steve whined in frustration, trying so hard to say it, but he couldn’t seem to force it out. Bucky smiled sadly and leaned forward until their foreheads bumped softly together.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t gotta say it back. I know, okay? I know. You’re scared of what this could do to us and so am I. I’m not askin’ anything of you, but you gotta know. You gotta know, Steve, how much you mean to me. I know you say you’re tired, ‘cause I’m the one who’s always savin’ you, but what you don’t seem to understand is that you save me. You save me every goddamn day and I would die without you.”

“Bucky, I...”

“It’s okay. You’re all right. You don’t gotta say it back.” Steve growled in frustration and squeezed his eyes shut against the hot press of tears in his eyes.

“But I do! I do, I hafta say it! You can’t go around thinkin’ I wouldn’t die without you too. And...and...not just ‘cause I’m sick all the time, though lord knows that’s part of it too. It’s because...because I...dammit,” he snarled, releasing one of Bucky’s wrists to swipe at the tear that had managed to leak out.

For so long, these feelings for Bucky had been one’s that he was terrified of. He’d ignored them for so long that they manifested into something so much more than what he’d felt as a child, without him even noticing. At first, when he was younger, he’d been afraid Bucky would leave him for what he felt, but as he grew older and the two of them grew closer, he knew Bucky would never leave him for something like that. And then it became fear of what would happen if people knew how they felt about each other.

And Steve wasn’t stupid. He’d known since Bucky had taught him how to dance that he felt the exact same way. And he knew that Bucky had found out about Steve’s feelings the moment they kissed. But it was the unspoken rule between them that they didn’t talk about it, didn’t acknowledge it. Because how could they keep from touching each other, holding hands and grinning like fools, if it was out in the open like that? How could they or anyone else deny how they felt if they’d given it words such as these?

Steve was crying in earnest now and Bucky was shushing him, using his thumbs to patiently brush the tears away and pressing kisses into his forehead.

“We can’t,” Steve whimpered, his voice and his heart breaking. “We can’t, we can’t, we can’t.”

“I know, Stevie. I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...” Steve shook his head, forcing his eyes open and lunging at Bucky to grab at his jacket.

“No,” he said sternly. “No, I don’t regret it. I don’t regret hearing you say it and I don’t regret what I feel. Never. Don’t you dare ever apologize for this.” Bucky blinked at him in surprise and nodded.

“Okay, no apologizing. I just...I don’t like to make you cry.”

“That’s on me, Buck. I’m actin’ like such a girl about this.” Bucky smirked at that.

“I dunno, Stevie, that don’t sound like much of a bad thing. Most of the girls I know are pretty badass.” Steve huffed out a laugh and took a reluctant step back, rubbing at his eyes. They waited a few more minutes until Steve finally looked like he hadn’t been crying and then Bucky ducked his head, pressing a kiss to a startled Steve’s cheek.

“I’ll see ya tonight,” he assured him, tossing Steve one last cocky smirk, an apology in his eyes, and then disappeared around the corner. Steve stared at the place where he’d disappeared for a moment and then huffed and shook his head at his own stupidity, smoothing his clothes out before he followed after Bucky. He waved to him and the other’s as he passed and made his way back home.

Since it was a Friday, Bucky was staying over for the night after dinner. And if Steve laid awake late into the night, curled up on his side facing Bucky and lightly tracing his features as he slept as he grinned privately to himself, then that was his business and no one else’s.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, excuse me, did I introduce three more ocs?? I did, didn't I? Oops. Oh well, a fan was asking for someone like Keira (thank you DonnaJane54) and then she worked in the plot I already had planned out months ago if she had a gay brother and so here we are. Well, I hope you guys enjoyed it anyway! Kudos and comments, as per usual, are appreciated and encouraged! I hope it doesn't take me too long to upload the next chapter! Thanks again for reading!


	10. Sarah Gets A Boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sarah gets a boyfriend and the boys are less than impressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so basically at this point you should just expect my chapters to be incredibly late. I'm so sorry, I don't know what I'm doing with my life. I'm taking two AP classes and that never sounded too terribly bad, but now it seems like I never stop having homework. And then I recently got into the Man from U.N.C.L.E. and that fandom and started a Napollya fic??? I don't know. I'm insane. 
> 
> Also, I saw Deadpool (IT WAS SO GOOD MY ASS WAS ON FIRE WITH HAPPINESS WHEN I LEFT THAT THEATRE) and was virtually flooded with Spideypool fic ideas to the point where I was just lying on my bed, getting attacked from feels and mapping entire plots out in my head?? And I started another Stucky fic??? Guys, I'm telling you, it's crazy in my head. Also, a lot of the blame can go to substepback (she's evil but she also does most of my research and gives me 95% of all the support I get so like I hate her but I love her, you feel?) because I'll randomly wake up to five thousand headcanons and then it's like "well now I HAVE to write the fic."
> 
> Anyway, I won't make any hollow promises this time. I never keep them. But, I would like to wish a very happy birthday to @luisa_barnes_ on Instagram! She is by far my number one fan, has drawn me two finished fanart (which I'm still trying to figure out how to upload onto this fic someone help me) and is currently working on a third. She's basically amazing and I love her and her account is golden, so if you have an Insta and you're interested, you should follow her! 
> 
> But this is getting too long, so here are the warnings! Enjoy the fic! I love you all! Thank you for being so supportive and patient of me! 
> 
> WARNINGS: Mentions of domestic abuse, a controlling relationship, mild descriptions of violence (also not Steve's fault this time),

Bucky had been awake for almost an hour and he knew that Steve had been awake for almost as long, but neither of them seemed too willing to break the spell of serenity that had fallen over the room. Steve was basically lying on top of Bucky, using his chest as a pillow and doing his best to breathe shallowly so as not to shatter the illusion. Bucky wasn't really trying to pretend to be asleep. He kept one hand in Steve’s hair and the other tracing pointless patterns across his upper arm.

He wasn't sure how long they lay there, but he knew eventually Steve would get restless. He was not wrong. Steve lifted his head and rested his chin on Bucky’s chest, glaring at him.

“This is your fault, you know.” Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“What's my fault?” Steve sat up, leaning back on his heels, and gestured between them.

“This. These.... _feelings_ and shit.” Bucky snorted out a surprised laugh and raised both eyebrows incredulously.

“What do you _mean_ it's my fault, punk?”

“I mean, all this cuddling and stuff is the root of my problems. It's your fault.” Bucky laughed, shaking his head.

“Uh, no. That’s not how it works, pal. I’m pretty sure you’re the one who’s always initiatin’ the cuddling.” Steve folded his arms and sniffed haughtily.

“It’s a mutual thing, I think. We both sorta initiate it at the same time.”

“So then it’s both of our faults.” Steve snorted and slipped out of the bed, yawning and stretching his arms above his head.

“Nah, it’s still your fault. If you would just be ugly and stop bein’ so....likable, then I wouldn’t be in this situation.” Bucky laughed again and propped himself up on his elbows, watching as Steve rooted around for clothes.

“I can’t win for losin’ with you, Stevie. You’re impossible.” Steve grinned and shrugged his shoulders, balling his clothes up into a wad and heading for the door.

“Oh, no ya don’t, punk,” Bucky growled playfully and swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbing Steve’s hips and pulling him back towards the bed. Steve let out a very undignified yelp and stumbled back into Bucky’s chest. Bucky’s arms immediately went around his torso and he propped his chin up on his shoulder.

“We got nowhere to go yet. I ain’t goin’ to work for a few more hours and there ain’t no way Sarah’s lettin’ you go to school when you had a fever yesterday. I guarantee that there’s a note in the kitchen threatening you if you go to school. She’ll probably ground you or somethin’. So you and I are gonna stay right here. At least until I gotta go to work.” Steve heaved a great sigh and slumped back against his friend.

“You’re the worst,” Steve grumbled, but he tossed his clothes back into the pile in the corner of his room. Bucky grinned and tightened his grip, rolling back into the bed and dragging Steve with him. Steve couldn’t help but to giggle as Bucky manhandled him beneath the covers and then pulled them high above their heads, hunkering down and pressing close to share body heat.

“Someone’s in a good mood today,” Steve pointed out, smirking at his friend. Bucky smirked back and shrugged, tangling their legs together.

“I get you all to myself for a few hours. It’s been three days, Stevie. I don’t think we’ve been apart for more than a day since we met. It was...weird.” Steve’s smirk slipped into a scowl and he punched Bucky hard in the shoulder.

“Hell yeah it was weird. And whose fault is that?” Bucky glared back and rolled his eyes, rubbing his shoulder. He was suddenly regretting teaching Steve how to punch.

“It was mine, I acknowledge that. I just felt bad, okay? First I got you an asthma attack and then I got you sick and I didn’t know how to look you in the eye after that.” Steve shook his head and reached out to tug Bucky’s ear, earning him another scowl.

“Is that why you paid for the strep medicine then? You felt guilty?” Bucky shrugged again, looking down to fiddle with Steve’s fingers on the bed between them.

“I guess that was part of it. I wanted you to get better too and Sarah said strep was real uncomfortable. It was probably my way to apologize too, though. I dunno. I didn’t really think about it. I just did it. The change was to pay for the asthma medicine you had to use, by the way.”

“I figured as much. Buck, how come you didn’t just talk to me about what freaked you out so bad?” Bucky sighed and his brow furrowed as he continued to play with Steve’s fingers.

“All I could think about was trainin’ you. I needed you to be able to defend yourself in case I wasn’t there one day. I thought....well, Ethan looked dead for a second. And he looked like you and I panicked and I had to make sure that never happened.” Steve was silent for a few moments and then he heaved a great sigh.

“Buck, all this living in constant fear of me dying is gonna drive you crazy,” he informed his friend, giving him a stern look. “I’m not so delicate as you seem to think I am.” Bucky sighed.

“I don’t think you’re delicate, Steve. I never have. I just know you. I know you get into fights that you can’t hope to win and I know you push yourself too hard and get sick because of it. And _that’s_ why I’m always afraid.”

Steve stared for a moment, processing. He opened and closed his mouth multiple times, but nothing came out. He really didn’t have an argument for that, but he wasn’t about to admit that Bucky had a point.

“You know what you haven’t done in a while?” he asked eventually, poking Bucky’s nose on the ‘you.’ Bucky rolled his eyes.

“What haven’t I done in a while?”

“Sketched. You haven’t sketched in a while.”

“I’ve been little bit busy here recently, Stevie.”

“Right, no, I know. I’m just saying, we have hours. You should sketch now!” Bucky narrowed his eyes as his deceptively innocent looking friend.

“You’re just trying to avoid the rest of this conversation.” Steve shrugged.

“Well yeah, but you can’t deny I’m making a good point.” Bucky considered this a moment and then sighed.

“All right, fine. You make a fair point. But it’s been so long...I wouldn’t even know what to draw.” Steve pushed the blankets off of them and half climbed over Bucky, lying across his side to dangle over the side of the bed and retrieve his sketchbook and pencils. Bucky rolled his eyes and used Steve’s collar to help pull him back up onto the bed.

While Steve sat back against the wall to the right of the bed and flipped to a clean page in his sketchbook, Bucky sat up and rearranged the blankets, sitting against the wall behind the bed. Steve propped his feet up in Bucky’s lap and passed him the sketchbook and the pencil.

“Okay, give me a prompt then, punk,” Bucky asked, setting the book up on Steve’s leg. He tried not to notice how few pages were left and did his best not to calculate how much money he would need to earn to keep up with the bills and still get Steve a new one. He did not succeed.

“Hmm...Draw your ideal future,” Steve suggested. Bucky raised an eyebrow at him.

“Really?”

“Yup. You told me to give you a prompt, I gave you a prompt.”  Bucky shot Steve an unimpressed look, but sighed and turned back to the sketchbook. He tapped the flat end of the pencil against the page for a second and then glanced up at Steve again. Steve smiled and waved his hand in a “go on” gesture. And then inspiration struck.

For the next hour or so, Bucky was a flurry of movement across the page. Steve watched the strokes of his pencil across the page, but the angle he was at made it hard for him to see exactly what Bucky was drawing. Eventually, he got bored and took his own pencil to the wall, sketching Bucky’s profile.

This wasn’t exactly new for Steve; he’d been drawing on the walls since he was little but unlike most parents, Sarah encouraged it. She always said that it was Steve’s substitute for not being able to paint the walls whatever color he wanted. His wall was a hodgepodge of different doodles done by both him and Bucky.

After Steve was finished with a rough sketch of Bucky’s profile, he shifted around to use Bucky’s legs as a pillow, propping his feet up on the wall.

“You want a story, Buck?” Steve asked, rolling his head to the side to make eye contact. Bucky glanced up and smiled.

“Yeah. Keep going with that one about the two friends who go to space.”

“Where did I leave off?”

“They’d just landed on that new planet and it looked empty.”

“Oh, right. But, see, that’s the thing; it wasn’t empty,” Steve added on ominously. Bucky raised an eyebrow in interest, returning to his picture.

So, Steve launched into the story. For years now, whenever one of them was drawing and the other didn’t have anything to do, they’d tell a story. Sometimes they continued with the same story, sometimes they started a new one, and sometimes they recounted stories or books they’d read before. It was a great way to pass the time for the person who wasn’t drawing and it was good background noise for the person who was.

“And so-” Steve was saying, arms spread wide in front of him as he gestured wildly with his hands.

“Finished!” Bucky interrupted. Steve sat up and turned his body to face Bucky, crossing his legs and scooting closer with excitement. Bucky mirrored his posture and then held out the sketchbook. Steve accepted it with eager hands and spun it around so the picture was right-side up.

It was one of Bucky’s best sketches. Bucky was leaned back against a tree with his arms around Steve who sat between his legs, leaning back against Bucky’s chest. Bucky’s eyes were closed as he rested his chin on Steve’s head. Steve was gazing out over the horizon, a pleased smile on his lips and a peaceful look in his eyes. There were rolling hills tumbling out behind them and on one of the hills in the distance was a tiny house with smoke curling up from the chimney.

Both Steve and Bucky had rings on their fingers.

Steve felt his stomach clench and he blinked rapidly down at the picture, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. When he glanced up, Bucky’s smile was calm and unwavering. He was completely unashamed of what he’d drawn.

“Buck...,” Steve murmured, looking down at the picture again. “I thought we talked about this. I thought you agreed we couldn’t do...this.” Bucky shook his head and grabbed the sketchbook, setting it to the side. He motioned for Steve to come forward and Steve hesitated before finally giving up and crawling into Bucky’s lap. They sat basically the same way they had when they’d kissed, Steve straddling Bucky’s waist and Bucky’s hands on his hips.

“Okay, first of all,” Bucky began, giving Steve his best impression of a stern look, “you told me to give you my ideal future and I did. Whether it happens or not doesn’t make it any less what I want. Secondly, I told you I understood. I told you I knew why you said we couldn’t do this. But I never said that I agreed.

We won’t do anything and I don’t _want_ to do anything until you’re ready. And maybe you never will be, but I’m willing to bet you will, and I’m more than willing to wait for you in the meantime.”

Steve stared down at him for a long moment. When he shook himself from his daze, he scowled.

“You’re very frustrating, James,” he informed him. “And annoying. You’re annoying too.” Bucky just grinned back.

“Maybe, but you love me.” Steve tried to bite back his smile in response but failed utterly.

“I do. And that’s the root of all my problems.”

“I thought it was my good looks and my charming personality?”

“Really? I don’t know where you got that idea...”

“I distinctly remember you sayin’ that we wouldn’t ‘cuddle’ so much if I were ugly and less likable.”

“That’s weird. I don’t know _why_ I would say that. I mean, you’re pretty ugly and your personality leaves much to be desired.” Bucky laughed and shoved Steve’s head, making him topple backwards off of him. Steve laughed and rolled off of the bed, landing on his feet. He grabbed the clothes he’d discarded earlier and headed for the door.

“Get ready for work, jerk. I’m gonna take a shower.”

“You’re a bossy piece of shit, Rogers,” Bucky called after Steve, but clambered out of bed all the same.

“I expect coffee and breakfast when I get out!” Bucky snorted and rubbed a hand through his hair, grabbing his clothes from the top dresser drawer to get ready for the day.

***

“Oh, drat!” Sarah’s frazzled voice drifted out from the kitchen.

Steve and Bucky glanced at each other and then ducked through Steve’s window, climbing off the fire escape and into his bedroom. They found Sarah bent over the sink in the kitchen, scowling down the drain.

“Ma?”

Despite her harried expression, Sarah was dressed rather nicely. She was wearing one of the dresses she usually reserved special occasions and her hair was done up in a neat bun on the top of her head. She was even wearing makeup, which almost never happened. Steve and Bucky glanced at each other again, mystified.

Sarah looked up at them and her expression cleared a bit.

“Oh, hello boys. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked. Sarah sighed and rubbed at her forehead with two fingers, eyes closed.

“I was rushing and dropped one of my pearl earrings down the drain.”

“What are you dressed all fancy for?” Steve demanded. Sarah flushed and began to anxiously smooth out her dress.

“I have a date...,” she said slowly, refusing to meet Steve or Bucky’s gaze. Steve’s eyebrows lowered into a frown while Bucky’s eyebrows shot into his hairline in surprise.

“When will he be here?”

“Ah...” Sarah looked away, gazing out the window in the living room and gnawing on the inside of her cheek.

“I told him I’d meet him at the restaurant,” she explained, voice soft and timid. Bucky sighed and nudged Steve, effectively erasing the pissy expression from his face. Steve took a deep breath and crossed his arms.

“Shouldn’t he be picking you up? Ain’t that the polite thing to do?” Bucky asked, cutting Steve off before he could say something hurtful. Steve shot him a withering glare which he pointedly ignored.

“Well...yes. But I, uh...I didn’t want to rush things. I wanted to make sure this was going somewhere before I introduced him to my boys.”

“So, he doesn’t know we exist? Ma, if you think he’s gonna leave you just because you already have a kid, then he ain’t worth your time anyway,” Steve tried to reason. Bucky had to agree. Sarah’s expression hardened and she straightened her shoulders, all traces of sheepishness having disappeared instantaneously.

“I’ll have you know I did tell him I have kids. Plural, because Bucky might as well be mine. He understands perfectly. I just don’t want to make a big deal out of this in case it turns out to be nothing.”

Steve immediately felt like an asshole. Clearly, his ma was just nervous. She wanted this to work and she was pulling all the stops to make sure that it did. And here he was, accusing her of being ashamed of them. He sighed and unfolded his arms, curling in on himself a bit.

“I think there are some of grandma’s old pearls in that box you keep in your closet?” he offered up as an apology. Sarah’s expression brightened into a grin and she swept forward to press a kiss to Steve’s forehead.

“Oh, thank you, Stevie! I completely forgot about those!” She rubbed the lipstick off of his forehead and flashed one more pleased smile in his direction before she hurried off down the hall towards her bedroom, heels clicking the whole way.

Steve hesitated a moment and then glanced sheepishly at Bucky who was already scowling at him.

“You had to piss on her mood like that, huh?” Steve thought maybe this conversation should be reversed, seeing as how it was _his_ ma, not Bucky’s. He huffed and glanced away.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I’m just not used to her goin’ out and all, I guess.” Bucky sighed and hooked an arm around his neck, dragging him close and digging his knuckles into Steve’s hair.

***

Sarah came in later that night, smiling and light.

“Are you staying the night Magic Man?” Sarah practically sang, plopping down on the couch beside him with a content sigh and sipping from her glass of water. Bucky looked up from his sketch and smirked at her.

“Sarah, why on earth would I be anywhere else?” Steve smirked and shook his head, trying to remain focused on his math homework.

“I don't know, Barnes. Why don't you move in, huh?” Bucky and Steve both looked up at her simultaneously, Bucky’s eyebrows shooting in his hairline and Steve’s eyebrows lowering down over his eyes. Bucky huffed out a surprised, amused laugh.

“You're in a good mood tonight. Good date?”

“Lovely date.” Sarah’s smile was warm and distracted.

“Yeah?” Steve asked, putting his pencil down to show his full attention. “He a good guy?”

“He was absolutely magnificent.”

“How'd you meet him anyway, Rogers?” Bucky asked, slouching back into the couch to settle in for the story. Steve leaned forward and grinned.

“Yeah, ma. How'd you meet?” Sarah smiled bashfully and smoothed the skirt of her dress out.

“Well. His friend broke his finger and I was mending it for him and he struck up conversation with me. He came back the next day to ask me on a date and here we are.”

“How romantic,” Bucky teased, fluttering his eyelashes. Steve smirked. Sarah sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Well. I'm going to bed. You boys don't stay up too late, understand?” she scolded, giving them stern looks as she strode past towards her room.

“Yes, ma'am,” the boys said in unison, watching her go. As soon as the door clicked shut, they rounded on each other.

“I don't like it,” they said at the same time. Their faces skewered up in distaste.

“Okay, stop,” Steve said, throwing his hands up. “Why don't you like this?”

“Sarah’s got good instincts. If she's not bringing him to meet us before she agrees to go out with him, she doesn't expect it to go anywhere.” Steve nodded.

“That's what I was thinkin’. What do you suggest?”

“She's a grown woman, Stevie. There's nothing we _can_ do. We’ll just keep an eye on the situation, I guess.” Steve sighed and nodded, scrubbing at his forehead for with two fingers.

“Hey,” Bucky murmured, sliding forward and pulling his hand away from his forehead to link their fingers together. “She'll be okay, Stevie. Don't stress yourself out over it.”

“She can take care of herself. I know that. I just...worry. She's been through so much already. I don't want her to get hurt.” Bucky nodded and pressed a kiss to Steve’s forehead.

“I know, babydoll. She'll be okay though. We’ll take care of her. This ain't gonna kill her.” Steve smiled and nodded, leaning into Bucky’s lips which lingered at his forehead.

“Thanks, Buck.” Bucky smiled and pulled Steve close into a proper hug. Steve pressed his forehead into Bucky’s neck and closed his eyes, snuggling close.

“No problem. S’what I'm here for.” Steve smiled and rubbed his thumb back and forth across Bucky’s hand, giving comfort as much as he took it.

***

Sarah continued to date this mystery man and refrained from introducing him to her boys. In fact, they had technically been dating for two months before Sarah finally announced they’d be having Sunday dinner together.

Steve and Bucky were a little ticked that their usual Sunday was being interrupted, but that was overshadowed by the fact that were finally getting to meet this guy. All they knew about him so far was that he’d met Sarah at the hospital and his name was Andrew Banks.

The two of them were seated on the couch, Steve sketching and Bucky flipping idly through his newest book, when the knock sounded at the door. They glanced at each other and then over the back of the couch to look at the door. Sarah bustled out of the kitchen, drying her hands with a dish rag as she hurried towards the door.

“You ready?” Bucky asked. Steve sighed but nodded and the two of them stood, walking around the couch so they could properly greet this Mr. Banks.

Sarah opened the door with a bright but slightly frazzled smile.

“Andrew,” she breathed. “Welcome. Come on in.” She stepped to the side, motioning him into the room. Andrew smiled down at her and stepped into the apartment, placing a kiss on Sarah’s cheek. She blushed and looked down.  

“Hello, love,” he purred.

Steve instantly didn’t like him. He didn’t know what it was, but Andrew made his skin crawl. He clenched his hands into fists and Bucky must have noticed, because he touched the back of Steve’s hands, causing his fingers to unfurl. He shot Bucky a reassuring smile and then turned back to the Andrew.

“Hi,” Steve said. He was a good actor; at least he liked to think so. So he was pretty sure his smile was easy and warm. He held out his hand for a shake and Andrew smiled at him, though it was all condescending. “I’m Steve Rogers. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Well, hello! It’s nice to finally meet you too. Sarah’s told me so much about you, I feel like we already know each other.” He shook Steve’s hand back firmly and then his eyes slid over to Bucky. Steve felt his hackles rise again and he swallowed back a snarl.

“And you must be Bucky Barnes!” Andrew said, turning to shake Bucky’s hand. Bucky was just as easy and relaxed as Steve was. He was doing that confident, uncaring panther thing that he usually did out in public.

It was a weird thing to watch for Steve. Bucky’s whole body language changed. His eyelids drooped, just a little, like he was bored or sleepy. His smile was just a little thing, lifted at one corner as though he couldn’t be bothered for much more, as though you didn’t deserve any more than that. His shoulders were slumped and he had a hand stuffed in his pocket, like you didn’t concern him. When he shook Andrew’s hand, his grip was loose and he kept it brief, as though to say, ‘you’re not important to me.’

“Yeah, that’s me,” Bucky drawled. “S’nice to meet you.” Andrew’s eyes tightened, but he showed no further signs of irritation with Bucky’s demeanor.

“It’s nice to meet you as well.” There was a tense, awkward moment and then Sarah was bustling them into the dining room and passing out drinks for the three of them with a quick, “supper will be ready in just a moment!”

Throughout the meal, Andrew was charismatic and kind. His auburn hair was styled perfectly off of his forehead, he had charming freckles sprayed across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, his cheeks dimpled when he flashed his perfect smile, his laugh was rich and strong, he wore an expensive and perfectly tailored suit, and his shoes were shined to an almost blinding flawlessness. But there was an amount of cold greed glistening in his dull blue eyes whenever his gaze swept over Sarah that made both of the boys distinctly uncomfortable.

He would push his thick rimmed glasses up his nose and lick his lips and it was generally disturbing. But he talked smoothly and, aside from the creepy looks, he was nice to Steve’s ma, so both Steve and Bucky decided to push through and keep smiling, keep making friendly conversation.

“So, Andrew, where do you work?” Bucky finally asked. They were all finished with their meals by now. Sarah and Andrew were sipping on the cheap wine that she’d purchased earlier in the week, while Steve and Bucky sipped on their glasses of water.

“Well, I came into my family’s old money when my pa died and we had some pretty solid investments before this whole Depression business started, so I’ve managed to keep most of it. I opened my business just to make sure I didn’t go under. It’s been pretty successful.”

Steve and Bucky glanced at each other again. At no point could either of them remember ever asking about his monetary status or how successful he’d been, but Andrew seemed keen to flaunt it. Bucky’s smile was slow and amused as he turned back to Andrew.

Somehow, throughout the conversation, Bucky had established himself as the dominant one. Somewhere in it all, he had started being the one throwing condescending smiles and remarks at Andrew instead of the other way around until Andrew was visibly uncomfortable and irritated whenever Bucky’s attention was on him.  

“And where do you work, Mr. Barnes?” Andrew asked before Bucky could say anything. Bucky’s smile went from amused to sharp and deadly in half a second.

“Down at the docks, for now. I’m hoping to get somethin’ better here soon.” Andrew nodded and then smirked, turning his eyes on Steve who immediately tensed in his seat.

“I see. And what about you, Stevie?”

“At Frank’s Rink, a couple blocks from here. And only my family gets to call me that, no offense.” Andrew’s eyes tightened once again but his smile didn’t waver.

“None taken. Hopefully, you’ll soon come to see me as your family.” At that, he turned a ‘warm’ - disgusting - smile on Sarah who flushed and looked down at her plate.

“Would anyone like dessert?” she offered, standing and collecting the plates.

Steve and Bucky glanced back at each other again, uneasiness passing between the two of them.

Something just wasn’t settling right with either of them.

***

Everything came to a head when Sarah had been dating Andrew for almost three months.

It was Steve’s fault really. Or at least he thought so. He should have seen the signs. The way Sarah went to great lengths not to have Andrew in close proximity to the boys. The way his smiles had grown increasingly more possessive. The way he’d started paying for the bills and Sarah’s smile had been too tight, too fearful to be real. The way the bruises would appear with increasingly more fantastical explanations.

He should have known. And maybe a part of him, a big part of him, suspected, but he hadn’t done anything about it, hadn’t confronted either Sarah or Andrew, and that was almost worse than being totally oblivious.

Steve and Bucky were just getting home from the park one Sunday evening when they heard a thump and a startled yelp that sound eerily like Sarah. Steve and Bucky didn’t hesitate to sprint up the last of the steps and explode into the room. The sight they stumbled in upon was so horrifying; the two of them were frozen for a moment.

Sarah was on the floor in the dining room, clutching at her head and her face gone as pale as an eggshell. Her blue eyes were terrified, but unsurprised, as though this had happened before. Her cheek was an angry red color, already swelling. It would be an ugly bruise in the morning. Tears leaked slowly from the corner of her eyes and Andrew, hair disheveled, raised his hand again. Sarah flinched, squeezing her eyes shut and turning her head away, tensing as though to brace herself.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Steve shouted, taking two steps into the room. Sarah’s eyes opened wide and she turned a horrified gaze on her son, mouth gaping like a fish. Andrew paused for a moment and then turned slowly to face him. His glasses were askew and his hair wild and his eyes wide. It made him look deranged.

“I’m teaching your mother some respect,” he spat out and turned to face her again. Steve snarled and shot forward before Bucky could grab him.

“Steve, no!” Sarah choked out, reaching for him. But it was too late. Steve grabbed Andrew’s raised arm and yanked back as hard as he could. It made Andrew twist to face him, stumbling a little and almost falling on his ass, but he caught himself on the couch. He rose to his full height and glared down at Steve. Steve merely squared his shoulders and tilted his chin defiantly, as though daring Andrew to hit him.

He apparently had no problem with that.

“Maybe you need to be taught some respect as well,” Andrew snarled and backhanded him with his ringed hand. Steve gritted his teeth against the urge to cry out and collapsed to the ground, clutching at his face and breathing hard. Before he could open his eyes or really do much of anything, there was a hollow thump and he heard the sound of both Andrew and Sarah gasping.

Steve rolled onto his back and pushed himself upright to see Bucky with one knee on Andrew’s chest, the other knee crushing Andrew’s palm to the floor, one hand curled tight in Andrew’s hair and forcing his head back, and his other hand holding the pocket knife he always carried around to Andrew’s throat. As usual when Bucky got a little too violent, his face was empty and calm. Almost disapproving. As though you’d done nothing except disappoint him a little.

“If you ever lay a finger on my family again, if you even so much as think about them ever again, I will kill you. I’m not stupid. I know the cops won’t do anything to you, if I tell them you’re beatin’ on a woman and her kid. So I’ll have to take matters into my own hands. And I won’t be as nice the cops would be. Are we clear, Mr. Banks, or should I show you just how serious I am?”

Andrew merely lied there for a moment, breathing heavily and glaring up at Bucky. But finally he exhaled slowly and nodded his head as much as the blade at his throat would allow. Bucky smiled a cold and dangerous smirk.

“I’m so glad we’re on the same page. I’m going to get off of you in a moment, and when I do, you’re going to get up, take your coat, and get the fuck out of our house. Try anything else and I will stab you in the throat. Understood?” Again, Andrew hesitated only a moment before giving a sharp nod. Bucky smiled a little more and released his hair to pat him on the cheek before he rose fluidly to his feet.

Andrew scrambled upright and hurried to the door, taking his coat of the rack and shrugging it on. He had just settled his fedora on his head and was halfway out the door when he turned back around, lips parted as though to say something. All Bucky had to do was raise both his eyebrows and flip his pocket knife around his fingers and Andrew’s jaw snapped shut, the door slamming behind him.

Bucky stared at it for a moment, as though to ensure he wasn’t coming back, and then turned back to Sarah and Steve. They were both on their feet already and Steve was directing a shell-shocked Sarah down into a chair.

“Can you get me some ice, Buck?” Steve asked, as though nothing had happened. He was as calm and sure as usual.

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky muttered, flipping his pocket knife closed. When he returned back to the dining room, he offered Sarah a sheepish, apologetic smile. She smiled back, but it was small and timid and shattered.

“Thank you, Magic Man,” she said quietly and accepted the ice pack, pressing it to her cheek. She paused for a moment with a tiny frown and then met his eyes again, face serious. “Thank you,” she said again. Bucky smiled and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“No need to thank me, Sarah. I’ll always protect you and Stevie,” he assured her.

“Ma,” Steve said softly, attracting both their eyes. “How long has this been going on?” Sarah flinched, her face skewering up with pain. Bucky sighed and ruffled Steve’s hair.

“How about I make us some tea and you can tell us about it while I patch up Steve here? Sound good?” Sarah shot Bucky a grateful smile and nodded.

“That’s a wonderful idea, Bucky, thank you.”

When Bucky returned to the living room with three precariously balanced cups of tea, Sarah was sitting in her usual chair at the table in more comfortable clothing with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Steve was sitting at his seat, staring at the table with a pissy expression and rubbing jaw. Bucky smiled and handed Sarah her tea. He set his and Steve’s tea down on the table and then went to fetch the first aid kit.

“All right,” he said, settling down in the seat next to Steve and turning his chair to face him. “Start talking. Remember, there’s no need to be ashamed. Stevie and I love you unconditionally.” Sarah smiled affectionately and took another sip of her tea. The whole time she spoke, Steve and Bucky listened in mute horror as Bucky patched up his cheek.

“I knew Andrew had a temper that first night we went on a date. The waitress brought back the wrong order or something, I can’t really remember, and he got unnecessarily mad. I should have called it off then, but it’d been so long since I went on a date and he seemed so nice otherwise. I didn’t see the harm in maybe going on a few more dates.

“The first few times, before and after dinner, he was very respectable and attentive. I thought maybe my reservations about him were entirely wrong. But everything went downhill after he insisted on paying my bills. I didn’t want to needlessly worry the two of you, but it’s getting harder to keep up with the bills here recently. I was pretty sure I could sort it out, but when I confided my concerns to Andrew, he wouldn’t hear of any other option.

“After that, he started getting...rough with me. At first, it was only minor things. He’d grab me a little harder than necessary, pinch my side a little hard when I did something he didn’t approve of while we were out. You know, small things that made me uncomfortable but I convinced myself that I was blowing things out of proportion.

“The first time he hit me, I tried to leave, but he told me I needed him to pay the bills and he was right, I thought. I’d never been able to buy you new pencils before, boys, and that felt so nice. And I wasn’t as stressed about rent; I could focus on paying Steve’s doctor bills and things like that. I convinced myself that it was worth it to stay.

“He didn’t hit me a lot, but it was often enough. I’m sorry you boys had to see that and I wish you hadn’t walked in, but I’m also glad that I finally had the strength to get rid of him. Or at least the strength to let him walk away without feeling desperate. Thank you, Steve. Bucky. I love you two so much.”

Her face crumpled and she covered her mouth with a hand, shoulder curling forward as she struggled to choke back a sob. Neither Steve nor Bucky hesitated, standing and walking around to hug Sarah from either side.

“It’s not your fault, ma. He had you trapped. Anyone would have done the same things you had. You’re so strong for being able to handle that all on your own. I’m proud of you. And I’m sorry I didn’t stop it from happening.”

“Me too, Sarah. We should have confronted Andrew a lot sooner.” Sarah sniffled and lifted her head, wiping at her cheeks.

“Oh, boys. That’s not your fault. And it’s certainly not your responsibility. The only person that’s really to blame here is Andrew.”

Steve and Bucky held her for a while longer, leaning their cheeks against her head and letting her draw comfort from them. After a while, Sarah patted their arms and kissed both their cheeks, first Steve and then Bucky.

“All right. I think I’m going to try to sleep. Don’t stay up too late, but you welcome to stay the night Bucky. I assume you were already planning to?” Bucky flushed and smiled sheepishly at her raised eyebrow.

“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered. Sarah smiled and ruffled his hair before she shuffled off down the hallway with a final “goodnight boys. I love you.” Steve watched her go for a moment and then scowled and stomped down the hall himself, shoving his door open angrily. Bucky sighed and packed up the first aid kit, putting the cups in the sink and putting the kit in the bathroom before he headed into Steve’s room with him.

Steve was sitting on the edge of the bed, his shirt discarded haphazardly on the ground. His elbows were propped up on his knees and he had his face buried in his hands. Bucky winced and closed the door gently behind him. He walked over and knelt in front of Steve, tugging the blonde’s hands from his face.

“Hey,” he said softly, using his thumb to brush the tears away. “It’s okay. He’s gone and he’s not coming back. He can’t hurt your ma anymore.” Steve shook his head and leaned forward until their foreheads bumped together.

“It shouldn’t have happened in the first place,” Steve whispered through gritted teeth, squeezing his eyes shut against the first wave of tears.

“Sarah was right, Stevie. We can’t blame ourselves. The only person there is to blame is Andrew.” Steve sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair, staring out the window.

“That’s not what it _feels_ like. It feels like it’s my fault too. For not doing anything about it. For not telling Ma that he gave me the creeps. She would have listened to me, before it got bad.”

“Steve,” Bucky sighed and cupped his face gently in both hands, turning him back to face him. “You are too good of a man for your own good.” Steve snorted and Bucky gave him a stern look. “No, listen to me. You carry the burdens of every person you come into contact with. You make it your responsibility to help people, even if there’s no reason for it. You try to _help_ people, even though everything about you says you shouldn’t be able to.

And I love you for that. But at some point you have got to give credit where credit is due. And the credit of this blame goes to Andrew, not you. You trusted Sarah to know herself and take care of herself and in this; she didn’t make the right decision. I’m not saying it’s her fault, but I’m also not saying that you should have somehow been able to anticipate this. You couldn’t have.

It is not your fault. You understand me?”

Steve stared back at him for a moment and then huffed, nodding and sliding his gaze away. Bucky smiled and leaned up to press a chaste kiss just next to Steve’s mouth. Steve stopped breathing and turned his wide eyes back on Bucky. Bucky just kept on smiling back and brushed a stray tear away.

“Let’s get some sleep, punk,” he murmured, releasing him. Steve blinked at him for a moment and then sighed.

“Jerk,” he muttered, standing to finish changing. Bucky chuckled softly and pulled his shirt over his head.

Outside in the hall, Sarah leaned against the wall with tears dripping slowly down her face and a smile on her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I think I should apologize for all the mistakes in my fic. I have no one to beta for me so I'm doing my own editing and, as you probably know, that's not as effective. 
> 
> Secondly, this chapter was kind of a form of therapy for me. I'm about to share a bit of my story, so if you think you'll get triggered by mentions of rape/molestation, then just go ahead and skip on past this. I won't blame you in the least. But, anyway, when I was seven my cousin Andrew molested me and there wasn't really anything done about it. So my therapist has been telling me to project myself into my characters. I didn't know how ready I was to do that in such a specific, public way, so I thought I'd name the douche in this fic Andrew and see how that went. 
> 
> So, anyway, I want to thank all of you for reading and being an outlet for not only my grief, but also my happiness. I've fallen in love with my writing and my characters for one of the first times in my life because of the overwhelming, positive responses I've gotten. I love each and every one of you and if at any point you need someone to talk to, I'm here. You can follow me on tumblr or Instagram under the same name, theworldofshipping. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter and that I continue to do Stucky justice! Only three more chapters to go for part one!

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is part one in a series I’m doing which will basically detail most of Steve and Bucky’s life together all the way up until after the events of The Winter Soldier. This first one will touch on how Steve and Bucky met and their life “before the war.” Then part two will be the events during the war and part three will be the events after, mostly those occurring after TWS. 
> 
> Obviously, I’m taking a lot of liberties with canon; like when Bucky was born, his familial situation, his age when he met Steve, when Steve was born, etc. etc. But I am doing it for the sake of the fic so I’m not really too guilty about it. Kudos and comments are encouraged, even if you’re pointing out plot holes or mistakes or inaccuracies or whatever! I live for constructive criticism! Also, I don’t speak Irish and am being forced to use Google translate which is notoriously inaccurate, so feel free to point out any mistakes in the translations if you happen to know Irish. Thanks! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> *Mrs. Grundy is a term used in the 1920s to call someone uptight.


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